


Sunshine's Gifts

by Quarra, wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Tower, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Competence Kink, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Domestic Avengers, Fae Bucky Barnes, Intercrural Sex, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sharing Clothes, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Touch-Starved Bucky Barnes, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: “Who are you?” Steve asks, eyes bright with anger and cheeks flushed with heat.Bucky laughs.His warrior, his Steve, is as brave and as incredible as Bucky thought him to be.“Is this how you offer me thanks for saving your life?” Bucky grins, delight making him giddy and playful. “Pinning me to the ground without even a proper courtship first?”*Or: Bucky is Horny. Steve likes his big rack.





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our Captain America Reverse Big Bang collab! Thank you so much to the mods for organizing this event and providing fandom with so much goodness.
> 
>  **wearing_tearing** : This story wouldn’t be what it is without my incredible artist: [Quarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra). Thank you for the beautiful art, the talks and brainstorming, encouragement, horse names, amazing puns, and deer facts. It was lovely working with you to bring Fae Bucky and his Man Antler to life. <3 
> 
> A special thank you to [siriusgrey](http://siriusgrey.tumblr.com/) for betaing this monster and whipping it into shape. :D
> 
> And all the love for everyone who heard me cry about this and cheered me on. You’re the best! <3
> 
>  **Quarra** : A big, wonderful thank you to my great author, [wearing_tearing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing). You've been so fantastic and indulgent of my crazy ideas. This collaboration has seriously been a joy, and I'm absolutely tickled with the story you've come up with. 
> 
> Folks, you are in for a treat. This story is gonna knock your socks off.

“It is almost time.”

Bucky’s mouth curls at the words, but he does not speak. They can all feel it in their bones and taste it in the wind: the blood, the sweat, the tears. It wraps itself around their hearts, as familiar as the ground beneath their feet, and pulls at them like puppets on a string.

The call of the Wild Hunt is a strong one, and Bucky gave his soul to it centuries ago.

“Get ready,” Bucky tells his clan. His voice is nothing but a whisper, but it carries through the trees. “Tonight, we gather the fallen.”

The hounds snarl and bark and bare their teeth, eager for the taste of blood. Around Bucky, the clash of armor and sheathing of swords signals the preparations. They are all ready for battle and they are all ready to hunt; to kill the immoral and to call on the dead to service the Hunt.

Starlight nudges Bucky’s cheek with his muzzle. The horse’s eyes glow with the promise of violence, blue mane brushing softly against Bucky’s fingers, and he looks as if he’s waiting for something.

The smile Bucky has been fighting against stretches across his lips. It is an old friendship, the one that exists between them, that spans through centuries and countless hunts. Starlight had been just a foal when Bucky joined the Hunt and together they have learned to fight and kill and lead. Now, he stands by Bucky’s side, his loyal companion into the thick of battle.

“I have not forgotten,” Bucky assures him, conjuring a carrot out of thin air.

It is a bargain they struck long ago: one carrot for one safe ride.

Starlight nickers and starts chomping on the carrot, teeth almost getting Bucky’s fingers in the process. Bucky pats him and, while Starlight is busy, he goes on to check the saddle and their weapons. He is the last one of his clan to mount his ride, protection mask snapping over his face and covering his features.

There is a slight thrum rising from beneath the earth and slithering up Bucky’s spine. It lets him know their time is here. The Hunt is on.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asks the clan, his hands gripping the reins, and feels the assent that rushes through him. They are all eager to kill, to fight, to hurt. Bucky is not one to deny them the pleasure. Bracing himself, he says, “Then let’s hunt.”

As they ride forward, they leave no tracks on the ground.

 

**

 

New York City smells just as Bucky remembers, although he is glad there are no holes in the sky this time. The only beings parting through the clouds are him and his clan, their hounds close at their heels.

Battle wages on beneath them, coating the streets with blood and bodies. Bucky can already tell who is useful for the Hunt and who is nothing but spoiled meat. Auras shine in different colors, shades of black and murky grey to indicate those who are not worthy, those who are only meant to feel the snap of hounds’ teeth and the coldness of their swords’ steel. And then there are sparks of white light in between the darkness, those souls who have the call of wilderness deep in their blood, either to serve or join the Hunt.

Bucky licks his lips beneath his mask, one hand curling around his sword’s hilt, ready to take what belongs to him. With a cry, he gives start to the hunt and joins the fight.

Bodies drop around them as they ride through the streets, an invisible force wrapped and hidden by magic. Whoever has fought against this group of humans has already wreaked a lot of damage, but there are still people around to put up a fight.

Bucky runs his sword through one of the men who dares charge him, blade cutting past the red octopus displayed on his chest. His black aura curls around Bucky’s sword and, as the man takes his final breath, eyes wide as he stares up at Bucky’s masked face, it dissipates through the air. Some souls spark, and those Bucky grabs on to with his metal hand. They will find a new life with the Hunt, a new purpose, just as Bucky once did.

Starlight stomps over the body and onto the next one, taking Bucky where he needs to go. Around them battle goes on, the Hunt doing its duty and adding to the dead that had been there before they arrived.

It is when Bucky rounds the corner between two buildings and into a wide street that he sees who he has to thank for the dead. A man with wings and another covered in red and gold armor fly through the air, weapons in hand, taking down humans on the ground below.

Bucky smiles, pleased. He can appreciate humans who are aware of the advantage the air grants them, even more so when he sees their souls spark.

An arrow flies past Bucky’s left and finds its home in the neck of a man standing a few feet in front of him. Bucky raises an eyebrow, impressed, and follows the arrow’s trajectory to a building a few ways behind him. On the roof, a man does not bother to hide, his purple armor shining under the sun. For a second, Bucky considers taking him for the Hunt despite the heart that still beats in his chest. Skill like that is beautiful and it should be appreciated.

Bucky is distracted when he spots a flash of red through the corner of his eye. A woman runs straight to a group of men, bracing her feet on a fallen rock and using it to propel herself forward. She twirls through the air and throws something at the men; whatever it is, it releases a charge of electric light, making them seize. By the time her feet touch the ground again, the men around her are down.

Bucky blinks and Starlight nickers. That is a woman neither of them should cross.

Starlight leads them in the opposite direction, along the street instead of across it. As they gallop and kill, Bucky spots a green being smashing through buildings and people alike. He would think it a troll if not for the pants the being is wearing.

Above them, thunder roars.

Bucky wonders, for an awful minute, if the sky will open up again and pour down lizards on their heads. To his relief, he only sees one god fly through the sky, his hammer beating down on the ground and releasing lightning through the streets.

Bucky can feel the power surge through the earth and pump through his blood. He closes his eyes, letting it flow through him for a second. He can hear Starlight snort, a small complaint, but they don’t stop moving. They keep riding on.

That is, until Bucky opens his eyes.

Light pours through the streets, so bright and warm that Bucky’s breath stills in his chest. It is wildfire, dangerous and alive, and it calls to Bucky like nothing else. It is a spark in the night, this light, and it belongs to the most beautiful soul Bucky has ever seen.

As Bucky’s eyes adjust, his breath comes back to him — only to be lost again when he gazes upon the source of such beauty.

A man stands, a shield in his hand, surrounded by enemies. Their dark auras try to smother the light, but it still bleeds through whatever evilness has transformed their souls. The man fights like that is what gives him life, strength behind every punch and kick and whack of his shield. Men fall at his hand, dead and bruised and bleeding, defeated within seconds.

This kind of fighting is what legends are made of.

Bucky does not know this man, this warrior, but Bucky never wants to let him go.

“He is mine,” Bucky vows, words carrying through the wind and earth.

Starlight, attuned to Bucky’s very own heart, takes a step closer. And that is when bad luck strikes true.

The man glances up, almost as if he’s heard Bucky’s words.Their eyes lock, the man’s jaw going slack with shock as if he is able to see past Bucky’s glamour, something that should be impossible to mortal eyes. This second of distraction costs him dearly: one beat they are staring at each other, surprise echoing between them, and the next a man with the blackest of souls is kicking Bucky’s warrior in the head.

The man crumples to the ground, blood gushing down his temple and staining his pale skin and blond hair. The enemy pulls out a weapon and aims, ready to do away with a soul worthy of leading the Wild Hunt at Bucky’s side.

Bucky will not allow it.

This will not stand.

No one gets to hurt his warrior and live to take another breath.

“Run free,” Bucky orders, and the magic that hides the Hunt from the human world dissipates. “Kill them all. Make them hurt.”

Screams of surprise and terror rise up to meet the Wild Hunt. Bucky slaughters all who stand in between him and his warrior, taking pleasure in the death of those who dare hurt what could be his.

In the distance, Bucky can hear his hounds snarl and his clan kill.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” comes a distance voice from above him, the man with wings staring around in alarm. He does not stop fighting, though he does not aim at anyone who belongs to the Hunt.

“Are those space dogs?” the archer asks as he drops to the ground, a smile gracing his face. “If I catch one, can I keep it?”

“No!” several voices shout.

“Do I shoot them?” the man with the red and gold armor asks. “I’m going to shoot them.”

The redhead woman answers, “Don’t. We’re not their targets. Leave them be.”

Bucky spares a moment to appreciate her intelligence. It passes as soon as he dismounts Starlight, his feet taking him to his fallen warrior.

“Is that an antler?” the armored man asks. “Does that dude have antlers? Oh my god, he does. He’s _horny_.”

“Stark!” the man with wings snaps. “He’s coming for Steve.”

 _Steve_.

So that is the warrior’s name.

Bucky is not worried about these snarky humans. They are still too far away to get to him, not that they could cause him any harm. With the exception of the God of Thunder, of course, but he is farther away than the others, dealing with more enemies with the help of their not-troll.

Bucky kneels beside Steve, safe in the knowledge that they no one will come for them in time. His fingers find the deep gash on the side of Steve’s head, skin getting stained with blood. Bucky gasps, the first touch between them like fire through his veins.

Bucky knows blood. He has been doused in it for centuries. He has spilled it and tasted it and bathed his soul with it. Yet this…

This is different.

Steve’s blood is pure and strong and _good_ , that of the righteous and innocent. It coats Bucky’s fingers and makes his skin tingle, and it only makes it all the worst that it has been spilled.

“I will heal you,” Bucky promises, thumb tracing through a sharp cheekbone.

Steve, his warrior, flutters his eyes open. “Nope,” he slurs. “‘S not real.”

Bucky’s lips twitch up in a faint smile. “I am as real as you are.”

“A dream,” Steve argues, unintentionally leaning into Bucky’s touch.

“Then close your eyes and rest,” Bucky tells him, not waiting to see if Steve will obey.

Bucky grabs Steve’s shield where if fell next to him, sliding his hand through the straps. A warrior should not be separated from his weapon of choice, and Bucky has no intention of keeping Steve’s from him. It is a good weapon, solid and almost unbreakable.

Once the shield is safe, Bucky picks up Steve. He snakes a careful hand under Steve’s back, his other arm going under his knees. Steve makes a tiny hurt sound in the back of his throat, but does not put up a struggle. His head lolls to the side before it rests against Bucky’s shoulder.

“ _He has Steve!_ ” the man with the wings yells.

Bucky watches as they try to close in on them, undoubtedly to rescue the warrior. Even though Steve has only gotten hurt because no one was there to fight beside him. With a muttered spell under his breath, Bucky restores the glamour around himself, and he and Steve disappear from sight.

“Where are they?” the archer asks, arrow at the ready. Without a target, he cannot let it go.

“They’ve disappeared. Completely,” the armored man states the obvious. “I can’t even get a heat signature. I thought you said we weren’t their targets!”

“We weren’t,” the redhead replies. “That’s not how the stories go.”

True.

Yet it is precisely how this story goes.

Starlight stays still as Bucky secures the shield to him, although his eyes follow Bucky’s movements. There is no judgement from him. He can also recognize the shine of Steve’s soul and he knows it should belong to the Hunt.

“Space horse,” Steve mumbles, breath hot against the side of Bucky’s neck. “Pretty.”

Starlight’s tail swishes high, having heard Steve’s words and liking them.

“I told you to rest,” Bucky reminds him, carefully maneuvering them both to mount Starlight.

“Can’t tell me what to do,” Steve argues, leaning heavily against Bucky’s back.

Bucky laughs, low and pleased and utterly charmed. He does not answer, though, instead hooking Steve’s leg over his thigh, hand holding tight to the back of Steve’s knee. He feels when Steve gives himself to pain and loses consciousness, head pressed to the cold metal of Bucky’s arm.

“Ride back when it is all done,” Bucky warns the Hunt, listening to the shouts and howls he gets as replies.

And then, with a tug of Starlight’s reins, Bucky takes his warrior home.

 

 

**

 

With utmost care, Bucky cleans the blood off his warrior’s face.

The Hunt is back to their corner of the woods, snowy and dark and protected by magic. Bucky can hear the clinks of glass and barks of happiness and laughter running free. This has been a successful hunt, in more ways than others. New souls have been picked to serve and to hunt.

As Bucky stares down at Steve, he thinks some souls have been picked to love, too.

“You are getting ahead of yourself,” Bucky murmurs, touch gentle while he presses a damp cloth to Steve’s temple.

The wound on Steve’s head is deep and ugly, but Bucky can already see the edges starting to heal. It is at a faster rate humans are usually capable of, from what Bucky has seen, yet he cannot be bothered to wonder why. If it will return his warrior to better health quicker, Bucky is willing to let it go.

Steve’s soul fills Bucky’s tent like bright sunshine, casting a soft glow around them. It warms Bucky up from the inside, wrapping itself around his skin and finding a place in his heart.

Bucky sets the cloth down back inside the bowl, having done all he can to clean his warrior of blood. He watches the rise and fall of Steve’s chest, bare now that Bucky has rid him of his armor, skin smattered with bruises that are already fading.

Bucky cannot help but be impressed. Steve is made of flesh and blood and bones, but his body is sculpted as if he were made of marble. Bucky has seen his strength in the field, has seen the damage Steve can cause, and is aware Steve knows exactly what to do with it, how to wield his body for battle.

Steve’s shield rests on the ground near Bucky’s feet, close to Bucky’s discarded mask. Bucky stops fighting his curiosity about the weapon and picks it up, brows drawing together at the heavy weight of it in his hands. It is an odd choice for the field, but Bucky has seen how well Steve uses it in his advantage and how quickly the shield can be used to kill.

With his metal hand, Bucky tries to bend the shield.

The weapon doesn’t move under his fingers. It stays stubbornly still against the strength Bucky forces against it, although the paint scratches a little under the friction.

“A good weapon for a good warrior,” Bucky comments, satisfied. It is good his Steve has the best humanity has to offer: a shield so strong not even the fae can destroy it.

When Bucky sets the shield down again, he hears the slight change in Steve’s breathing.

Time stops, but only long enough for Bucky to decide how he will deal with this. He will give his warrior a chance and pretend he does not know Steve is now awake. It will be amusing to see how Steve reacts, what his great warrior does when faced with an unknown place and strange foe.

Bucky pushes the shield away from them, out of arm's reach. Just because he is willing to let Steve do as he wants, it does not mean he is willing to play fair.

Besides, he suspects Steve is just as deadly without his shield as he is with it.

Bucky faces Steve again, eager to see what will happen. When the minutes tick by and nothing does, Bucky’s amusement grows.

His warrior is waiting for something. Bucky is not one to deny him.

With a small smile on his lips, he lifts his hand and cups Steve’s cheek.

When Steve acts, he acts fast. He grips Bucky’s wrist with a hand and tugs him forward with inhuman strength. Bucky lets himself lose his balance and tip forward, breath rushing out of him when Steve uses the momentum to brace his feet on the floor and flip them over. Bucky ends up pinned to the ground, wrists locked above his head — but still careful of his antlers — under the secure grip of Steve’s hands, his thighs pressed to the ground by Steve’s shins, and torso immobilized by Steve sitting on top of him.

“Who are you?” Steve asks, eyes bright with anger and cheeks flushed with heat.

Bucky laughs.

His warrior, his Steve, is as brave and as incredible as Bucky thought him to be.

“Is this how you offer me thanks for saving your life?” Bucky grins, delight making him giddy and playful. “Pinning me to the ground without even a proper courtship first?”

“Thanks,” Steve snarks, putting more pressure around Bucky’s wrists. “Now _who are you_?”

“You may call me Bucky,” Bucky says, giving Steve something but still protecting his true name. And faced with Steve’s rage, he can’t help but add, “Or sweetheart, beloved, honey. I’m not picky.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if at a loss for words. Bucky could use this second of distraction to flip their positions, but he finds that he quite likes the weight of Steve above him.

“Where are we?” is Steve’s next question, his eyes darting around the tent and briefly settling on his shield.

“We are where we are meant to be,” Bucky assures him, observing every minute twitch of Steve’s expression.

Steve makes a frustrated sound in the back of this throat. It almost sounds like a growl, low and rough. Bucky wants to hear it again, but maybe in better circumstances.

Steve does not bother with questions again. Instead, he lets go of Bucky and makes it for the shield. Bucky uses his own speed to stop him, surprised to notice he only gets there before Steve by a split second. As it is, he manages to sit his butt down on top of the shield, effectively trapping it under him.

Steve, once again showing how great of a warrior he is, doesn’t try to take the shield back. He changes tactics and goes for the flap of Bucky’s tent, throwing it open and running outside.

With a sigh, Bucky stands up to follow. He knows Steve will not go very far.

The scene that greets him outside is just as he expected it: his clan continues to celebrate, drinking and laughing and sharing stories. The hounds enjoy the meat gathered from the hunt, teeth bloody and mouths full. Starlight, now free of his saddle and armor, stands a few feet from Bucky’s tent, blocking Steve’s path.

Not that Steve tries to run. He’s frozen in place, just as Bucky knew he would be, eyes round with shock and what Bucky hopes is a little bit of awe. His gaze travels through the great expanse of the woods Bucky calls home, lingering on the horses and hounds, taking in the magic that makes up their lives.

There is no mistaking them to be human.

Any of them.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, stopping a few steps short of his warrior.

Steve turns to him, face pale but shoulders braced. Brave, even when no one would fault him for being afraid. “You’re not of this world.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “We are all of this world,” he says. “It is just that some of us are more worldly than others.”

Steve presses his lips together in a thin line and once again looks around him. “Am I a prisoner?”

“No,” Bucky tells him, because the one whose heart has been captured is not Steve.

“But I can’t go back to my team.”

“Not alone.”

Steve lets out a harsh breath and scrubs a hand over his face. He looks unhappy and worried, the lines of his shoulders tight as he holds himself tense. Bucky doesn’t like it. He misses the relaxed Steve who slept while Bucky took care of him.

“Will you take me back?” Steve asks, tone speaking of every bit of reluctance he feels.

For a second, Bucky considers saying no. Steve’s soul calls to him, his warrior heart and bravery, like nothing else Bucky has ever known. Yet keeping Steve breaks the rules of the Hunt, which Bucky has sworn to uphold since he took up his place as leader centuries ago.

“Let’s head back inside,” Bucky says instead, gesturing to his tent. “You have questions and I have answers. Then, we can decide.”

Steve squares his shoulders and tilts his chin up, but does as Bucky’s suggested. Bucky pats Starlight on the neck once before heading inside, a silent thank you for keeping their warrior safe.

“What do you want to know?” Bucky sits down in front of Steve on the floor, propping his chin on his knee.

Steve watches him, suspicious and guarded. “Who are you?”

Bucky gives him a toothy smile and finally gives him a clear answer, “I am the leader of the Wild Hunt.”

Third time’s the charm, after all.

Steve’s brow furrow, eyes going distant as if he’s trying to recall something. A few seconds later and understanding dawns in his face. “You’re fae.”

“And you are smart,” Bucky praises him, never losing him smile.

Steve looks torn between a scowl and a laugh, but then his expressions turns carefully blank. “Why did you take me?”

“You were injured.”

“Why did you care?” Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m just human. We don’t matter to you.”

“Are you?” Bucky tilts his head to the side, eyes moving to the already healed gash on Steve’s forehead.

Steve gulps and his cheeks pink up, but he keeps his mouth shut. Bucky appreciates that, someone who knows when to keep secrets.

“What do you want?” Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Fae always want something.”

“So do humans,” Bucky replies. “Case in point: you want to go home.”

“I need to get back to my team,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They must be worried about me.”

“Your team?” Bucky vaguely recalls the man with wings and his screams.

“ _Yes_ , my team. Did they see you take me?”

“The winged one. He was not pleased.”

“Sam,” Steve sighs, shoulders slumping. “I need to get _back_.”

“Why is that so important?” Bucky frowns. “They did not protect you from getting hurt.”

“That’s not their job,” Steve argues, fire in his eyes. “We protect _others_ from harm. Sometimes that means we get hurt along the way.”

Bucky snorts. “That’s stupid.”

Steve gapes at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he sputters, “ _You’re_ stupid.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. He wonders if he should take back calling Steve smart. “Make me understand,” he tries, if only so he can get Steve talking. He likes listening to him speak.

“The Wild Hunt,” Steve starts, attention focused entirely on Bucky, “they’re yours.”

“Yes.”

Just as much as Bucky is theirs.

“Your family. Your brothers in arms. Your _team_.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s mind works, connecting the dots. “Your team, they are your Hunt.”

“They’re my family,” Steve explains, eyes pained but filled with love. “The only one I have left.”

Bucky swallows around a lump in his throat. Family is a distant concept to him, lost centuries ago, washed away by blood and forgotten in death. Even so, Bucky knows. He is aware of how much value there is to family, especially if it’s one you chose for your own.

There are rules to family and Bucky is not about to be the reason Steve breaks one of them.

But Bucky is still fae and he is not about to give up on what he wants.

“How about a deal?” Bucky asks and licks his lips, skin tingling as magic gathers around him.

“A deal?”

“If you’re willing.”

Steve laughs with no humor in it. “It’s not like I have much choice.”

Bucky shrugs. He is not about to make this easy for Steve. He won’t make this harder, either, because he does want to earn Steve’s trust. It will take him time, but Bucky is willing to put in the effort. He’s seen Steve’s soul and he wants to be worthy of holding sunshine in his hands.

“I will take you back home right now,” Bucky announces his words carefully, “only if I can come with you and assure you are safe. And only if you agree to see me again.”

Steve opens his mouth as if to complain, but when Bucky merely raises an eyebrow in return, he stays quiet. Bucky can practically see the cogs turning in Steve’s head, his warrior considering his options and weighing Bucky’s words.

Bucky wants to smile, but he resists.

Deals are fae currency and Bucky is very adept at working them in his favor.

It takes Steve a few seconds, and he still seems reluctant when he extends a hand to Bucky, but he finally says, “Deal.”

Bucky’s smile turns to a grin. Equally slowly, he grasps Steve’s hand in his, ignoring the way Steve shivers as the magic wraps around them and seals their bargain.

“It is done,” Bucky confirms. He is a bit upset that Steve drops his hands as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but now is not the time to complain. “Do you wish to leave now?”

Steve nods, and then stares down at himself. “As soon as I get come clothes on, yes.”

“Clothes were not part of the deal,” Bucky points out, and then can’t help but laugh at Steve’s indignant sputters and flushed skin. “Your armor is by the bed. You may put it on, if you wish.”

Steve does not bother with words. He only levels Bucky with a glare, grabs his battle armor, and start getting dressed. Bucky is sad to see all that bare skin be covered up, but he knows humans can be twitchy about appearing half-naked. Not that he can think of one single reason why his warrior should ever be ashamed of his body.

“I’m ready,” Steve says once he is all put together again, shield on his arm. He looks calm, yet Bucky can sense the undercurrent of anger that barely skims the surface of Steve’s eyes.

“Yes, you are,” Bucky agrees. He picks up his mask off the floor and slips it on. “Now I am, too. Shall we?”

 

**

 

New York City without death is unusual to Bucky. The city is not peaceful, not exactly, but there is a certain soothing rhythm to its noise and traffic and people. Bucky can see why Steve has made it his home.

It does not take long before they reach their destiny: a tall and ugly-building that Steve says belongs to his team. Starlight is an excellent navigator, even if Bucky had to bribe him with another carrot to get him to agree to take them back to New York.

Steve holds on tightly to Bucky’s waist with one hand as they fly; the other wields the shield, almost as if Steve is expecting some kind of attack. Bucky doesn’t try to tell him that they are as safe as they ever will be, up here, protect by magic. He knows Steve won’t believe him, even if Bucky cannot lie.

Starlight lands with as much grace and poise as he allows himself to have, which means Steve only jostles a little when they stop at the roof of Avengers Tower. Bucky makes a silent promise to give him another carrot once they are back, if only because the movement makes Steve press right up against Bucky’s back, all warm heat and solid body.

“Here we are,” Bucky says once they dismount. He gives Starlight a pat and murmurs for him to stay, but keep himself hidden.

“You’re coming with me?” Steve asks, startled, when Bucky makes to follow him through the door.

“That is our deal,” Bucky reminds him. “I come with you to assure you are safe.”

“I’m safe.” Steve gestures at himself, and then at the roof around them. “And I’m home. You can go now.”

“That is not what we shook on,” Bucky says slowly. “You wouldn’t want to break a deal with the fae, would you?”

“Why? Would I die?”

“That’s something you should have asked before, don’t you think?”

Steve huffs. “I’m asking now.”

“No, you wouldn’t die,” Bucky answers. “You would just be beholden to me. Forever.”

Bucky does not tell him, if deals were to be broken, that it would be well within his rights to take Steve away and to the Wild Hunt. When Steve joins him in the Hunt, Bucky wants it to be out of his own free will.

“Great,” Steve sighs, eyes glancing over his shoulder to the door. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Bucky follows behind Steve once they head inside, thankful that his status as leader of the Hunt makes him immune to all the iron that builds up Steve’s home. It wouldn’t do for Bucky to end up poisoned and dead.

“Captain Rogers, it is a pleasure to know you are safe.”

Bucky looks up at the sound of a new voice, but can’t make up any beings that have followed them in.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve answers, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Where’s everyone?”

“They are getting ready to rescue you,” the voice, Jarvis, answers, “but I see that is not needed. I will let them know you have returned home.”

“Can you tell them I’ll meet them in the common room?” Steve asks. “And that I’m not alone?”

“Certainly,” Jarvis promptly agrees. “I must ask, Captain: should I engage Sir’s _Get Rekt_ protocol?”

Bucky has no idea what that means, but he likes the way it makes Steve’s lips twitch while he tries not to laugh.

“No, that’s fine,” Steve says, voice filled with mirth. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

Silence follows Steve’s statement. Bucky is not naive enough to think whoever owns the voice is gone.

“Your ceiling talks,” Bucky comments when they head to a big metal box that opens up near one of the walls.

“His name is Jarvis. He’s an A.I.”

Bucky hums. “That means nothing to me.”

Steve spares him a quick glance. “Artificial Intelligence?”

Bucky shrugs. “No.”

“A robot?” Steve tries again, turning around in the big metal box so he’s facing Bucky.

“Oh. Metal that speaks?”

“Sure. But Jarvis is more like…” Steve stops to think, hand coming up to scratch at his chin, “an all-knowing entity, almost.”

“So he’s more powerful than you are.” Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed.

Steve seems unsure of what to say for a second, as if he’s never considered that before. “I… guess he can be, yes.”

Bucky nods. “But he protects you.”

“I do,” Jarvis is the one who answers him, just as the big metal box tings and the doors slide open. “You best remember that.”

Bucky’s eyebrows climb to his hairline, pride and amusement rushing through him. Of course his warrior, his Steve, would inspire such loyalty from others. It makes him wonder why Steve looks both touched and a little uncomfortable with such declaration, but that is another question he will keep to himself.

Even more so, because as soon as they leave the big metal box, Bucky finds himself at the aim of several different weapons.

“ _Steve_ ,” the man with the wings says, his eyes trained on Bucky and a gun held firmly in his hands. “Step away from the alien.”

“Sam—” Steve sighs, but Bucky interrupts him.

“I’m not an alien,” Bucky huffs. “It is rude for you to call me so.”

“ _Rude_?” Sam repeats, baffled. “Rude is kidnapping people!”

“He didn’t kidnap me,” Steve tries, hands raised in front of himself in a placating gesture.

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing,” the archer comments, arrow drawn and ready to let go.

“Do you mean far away from Steve?” Bucky inquires, eyes narrowed. “Maybe if you were protecting him like you were meant to, I wouldn’t have had to step in.”

“So you admit it!” a little man with weird facial hair points at Bucky, his hands covered in red and gold armor. “You kidnapped him!”

“I saved him,” Bucky corrects him. “And I brought him back to you when he asked. Even though he would be safer with me and my own.”

“You say can keep Steve safe,” the redhead says, holding one gun in each hand, “but so can we. Steve, step aside.”

Steve makes a little frustrated sound in the back of his throat, but instead of doing as his supposed friend has asked, he steps in front of Bucky instead.

“Lower your weapons,” Steve says, steel bleeding into his tone. “Nat, Clint, please.”

Bucky can’t help the little rush of excitement that spreads through his chest. Steve is _protecting_ him from others, even if he does not need to.

“Steve.” Sam stares at him, eyebrows drawn and mouth tight. “C’mon.”

“No, _you_ c’mon.” Steve throws his arms up. “I wasn’t kidnapped, okay? Bucky just took care of me while my head healed and then he brought me back as soon as I asked him to. He didn’t keep me, he didn’t hurt me. He just helped.”

“Which is more than I can say for you,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, but still loud enough so everyone can hear him.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve hisses, bringing his elbow back and lightly hitting Bucky in the chest. “Shut up.”

Bucky’s heart does another flip. Steve is protecting him and Steve gave him a _nickname_.

“What did you call him?” the red and gold man asks, his eyes shining.

Steve frowns. “Tony, now is not—”

“Did you call him _Buck_?” Tony asks, chin wobbling as he desperately tries not to laugh. “Did you call a dude who has real _antlers_ coming out of his head, _Buck_? Are you serious?”

Clint snorts, and even Sam looks amused. Steve just seems like he wants to turn around and take Starlight for a ride, which Bucky can relate to. He is also ready to get the hell out of this place.

“That’s his name,” Steve answers, and when Tony opens his mouth again he continues, “now shut _up_ and put your weapons down.” It takes them a few seconds, but they do as Steve tells them to. “Thank you,” Steve says, “now how about we—”

“Ah, I see you’ve returned home safe!” the God of Thunder steps into the room and gives Steve a smile. “Banner would want to be here, but he passed out after I sang to him.”

“That’s okay, Thor,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’re all okay.”

“And so are you.” Thor clasps Steve by the arms, shaking him a little. “A run with the Wild Hunt did you good, huh?”

“ _What_?!” Sam and Tony shriek, they eyes going round with surprise.

“Aw, space dogs,” Clint says, as if suddenly everything makes sense.

Nat is the only one who doesn’t seem surprised, which confirms Bucky’s impression that she’s known who he was all along.

“Didn’t you know?” Thor asks them, and then points at Nat. “She knew.”

Sam and Tony turn to her with equal expressions of betrayal on their faces.

Nat ignores them. Her gaze is reserved to Bucky, her tone cold and level when she says, “The Hunt is not supposed to pick at the living.”

Bucky shrugs. She is right, but he doesn’t own her an explanation for his actions.

Thor doesn’t seem to agree. “It’s Steve’s soul,” he says, wiggling his fingers in front of him.

“My what?” Steve asks, voice faint.

“It is the soul of a true warrior,” Thor continues. “I’m sure it’s very attractive to Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t know what’s happening, but as soon as Steve turns to look at him, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed, Bucky feels his skin heat up in return. But that’s stupid. Bucky doesn’t _blush_.

“Oh,” Nat says, and Bucky doesn’t like the sudden shift in her expression. The considering and calculating look in her eyes reminds Bucky of how deadly she is in the field. “I see.”

“What I don’t see,” Sam pipes up, “is how Thor knows Bucky’s name.”

Bucky takes this opportunity to speak up, hopefully to change the subject. “We’ve met.”

Steve blinks at him, and Bucky is sure a feather would knock him over. He itches to snake an arm around Steve’s waist and pull him close.

“You’ve _met_?” Tony asks in a high voice. “I— wait, of course you’ve met. It’s— the stories, of the Wild Hunt, the god of death. You’ve met because—”

“Father used to lead the Hunt,” Thor interrupts him.

“For a while,” Bucky reluctantly admits, “because he was bored.”

“You know Odin?” Steve whispers, looking far too pale for Bucky’s liking.

“I know lots of people,” Bucky grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“He gave Bucky the Hunt, after he left,” Thor tells them. “He told me you were one of the best warriors he’d ever seen.”

Bucky can’t help but preen a little. It is true, Thor’s words and Odin’s assessment: he is one of the best warriors the universe has ever seen.

“I think I need to sit down.” Steve gulps and sways a little in place.

Bucky is by his side in less than a second, body slamming Thor away from Steve so he can get an arm around Steve’s waist. “I will take you to your rooms,” he says, ignoring the way Thor grins at both of them.

“Uh, no you wo—” Sam starts to say, already halfway to Steve’s side.

“He’s on the thirteenth floor,” Nat cuts him off, head tilted to the side as she pointedly stares at the way Bucky’s hand gently grip Steve’s hip. “Make sure he eats something.”

Bucky nods his head in acknowledgement, although he can sense hidden motives behind Nat’s sudden helpfulness. He’s not going to complain, though. Not when he has Steve leaning heavily against his side, body warm and pliant.

“Let’s go,” Bucky murmurs, walking them back to the big metal box.

Steve practically slumps against the wall of the box, although he does not push Bucky away. Bucky finds that he likes being this close to Steve, sharing this kind of touch that is not to hurt or to kill, just to comfort. It is not something he’s had much in life, and he revels in how settled it makes him feel.

“So that is your family,” Bucky comments, trying to take Steve’s mind off the conversation they just had.

Steve nods. “They’re mine.”

Bucky hums, a low and deep sound that comes from his chest. “They care a lot about you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“They could be better at showing it,” Bucky adds, lips curling down. “You should not have had to rely only on me to keep you safe.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t _need_ you to keep me safe. I can protect myself.”

“I disagree,” Bucky sniffs, tilting his head a little so his antlers touch the fluff of Steve’s hair. “You are one of the most capable warriors I have ever seen, but even warriors of legend did not fight by themselves. Yesterday, you fought alone and you were hurt. Your family needs to take that into consideration when making battle plans. If one of you gets hurt, you are all compromised.”

Steve stares at Bucky, a light in his eyes Bucky has not seen there before. He doesn’t say anything, their breaths echoing through the small space of the box, gazes glued to each other. Bucky is content to let Steve look his fill, and he takes this chance to appreciate the fine lines of Steve’s face.

“We’re here,” Steve says, and a second later the metal box pings again.

Steve’s den is larger than any tent Bucky has ever known, but it still has the unmistaken feeling of home when Bucky steps into it. It is all warm tones and worn furniture, books and pictures on the wall, the smell of ink and coffee and Steve. It is a good home.

“Where do you keep your food?” Bucky asks, arm still around Steve’s waist.

Steve points to his right and together they make their way to the dining area. It is filled with several metal boxes of varying sizes, as well as cabinets. The true gift is the bowl filled with fresh fruit that sits on top of a small table, their sweet scent tingling Bucky’s senses.

“You can let go of me now,” Steve says as they move to the table, pulling up a chair and making to sit down on it.

Bucky is reluctant, but does so. He takes off his mask and waits until Steve is comfortable before he goes for the fruit, sliding one of the knives he keeps strapped to his wrist down and gripping it in his palm

“Woah, what are you doing?” Steve asks, reaching out a hand and curling it around Bucky’s wrist.

Bucky blinks down at the touch, fighting a shiver. “I am going to prepare you some food.”

“You don’t have to. I can feed myself,” Steve says, but upon Bucky’s glare he adds, “You gotta wash them first.”

Bucky frowns down at the fruit and then pointedly looks around. “You have no lakes here.”

Steve lets out a low laugh, which quickly gets swallowed up by surprise. “Oh, you’re serious.”

Bucky stands up and grabs the bowl. “I’ll ask Starlight to find us the nearest clean body of water. I’ll be back soon with your food.”

“Oh my god, no.” Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s wrist and tugs him closer. Bucky lets himself be manhandled, ignoring the way his traitor heart skips a beat at the obvious show of Steve’s strength. “We don’t need lakes. We have plumbing.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side. “Is that a good thing to have?”

“Yes. Here, let me show you.”

Bucky tries to protest when Steve gets up, but shuts up as soon as Steve lets go of his wrist so he can press a hand to the small of Bucky’s back. Bucky’s entire body draws up, not knowing whether he wants to lean into the touch or run away from it. As it is, he lets himself be guided by Steve to a square hole underneath one of the cabinets.

“This is a sink,” Steve tells him just as he reaches out a hand to fidget with the knobs. At the turn of his wrist, clear water suddenly comes rushing out of the weird looking hollow stick that rests between the knobs.

Bucky can’t help himself. He gasps.

“Cool, huh?” Steve grins at him, obviously pleased at Bucky’s reaction.

“Is it?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer before he touches the water, a smile gracing his lips at the cool feel of it. “It is cool,” he says, and then sticks a finger in his mouth. “And it tastes as water should.”

“That’s how we wash our food,” Steve explains. “No lakes necessary.”

“Convenient.” Bucky drops the bowl on the counter. With his hands now free, he can place them on Steve’s shoulders and push him towards the chair again. “Sit. I will feed you soon.”

“I can feed myself,” Steve complains, but he does not resist Bucky’s touch.

“Your friend Nat asked me to make sure you had something to eat,” Bucky reminds him, going about preparing the food as soon as Steve sits down. “I do not know her, but I know she is not to be crossed.”

Steve sighs. “You’d be right. I guess I can let you do this.”

“How generous,” Bucky snipes back, carefully cutting an apple into perfect little cubes.

“So,” Steve starts, “do you plan on staying long?”

Bucky slowly glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “I will stay for as long as I can.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You did not specify a schedule I should keep to when you struck a deal with me.” Bucky smiles a little and goes back to his task. “That is a lesson you’ve now learned.”

“Fae are tricky,” Steve comments, as if he’s now just realized this.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “It is our nature.”

“Can you only tell the truth?” Steve asks. “Or are those stories a lie?”

“You have some knowledge of us.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, a non-answer to mask the truth. Bucky is proud.

“I cannot lie,” Bucky replies, because saying he can only tell the truth is not accurate.

The fae can twist and turn words to fit their own needs, they can utter half truths, they can smile through hidden meanings. Bucky has been doing it for centuries; it is a dance one learns to follow if they wish to stay alive.

“Does this mean it’s true what Thor said?”

Bucky swallows hard, finishing the last of the fruit and dumping it all back into the bowl. “Thor said a lot of things.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t complain when Bucky sets the bowl in front of him on the table. “He did,” he says, not touching the food. “Do you really know Odin?”

Bucky lets out a breath of relief. God questions he can handle. Attractive souls is another matter, but it seems like Steve is not focusing on _that_ particular comment.

“Yes,” Bucky answers. “I was just a rider when we met, centuries ago. He lead us on great hunts, through this world and others.”

“Do you know other gods?”

“Yes.” Bucky nudges the bowl with a finger. “Eat your fruit.”

Steve obliges, popping an apple cube into his mouth. “How old are you?”

“Older than you,” Bucky says, sitting down on a vacant chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“How did you become part of the Hunt?”

“I died.” Bucky smiles at the stricken look on Steve’s face. “The Hunt deemed my soul worthy to hunt, so a rider I became.”

“Are you dead now?” Steve asks, voice low and upset.

“Do I look dead?”

Steve’s eyes trail from the tips of Bucky’s antlers down to his toes. His cheeks flush. “No.”

Bucky’s smile widens. “I live another life, but it is a life just the same.”

“Do you have a heartbeat?”

Bucky uncrosses his arms and leans forward on his seat. “Feel for yourself.”

Steve’s hand is warm and heavy as it presses against Bucky’s chest, his brows furrowed in concentration as he seeks life under Bucky’s skin. Bucky’s heartbeat rises up to meet him, pulsing under the heat of Steve’s palm.

“You do,” Steve murmurs, fingers digging into Bucky’s skin once before he lets go.

Bucky fights back a shiver. “Any more questions?”

“Probably,” Steve admits, going back to his food. “I’ll let you know.”

Bucky snorts, tossing his head, and settles back, letting Steve eat. He can still feel the press of Steve’s touch against his chest, warming up his very soul.

Steve goes through the bowl quickly, fingers and mouth sticky with juice. Bucky wants to eat him up.

They don’t speak, merely sit in silence together. Bucky watches him and notices the tired lines around Steve’s eyes and mouth deepen, his eyes growing heavy, his movement sluggish and a bit clumsy. It is obvious the exhaustion of the battle is catching up to him, despite his restful sleep in Bucky’s tent.

“You should rest,” Bucky comments when Steve’s done, taking the bowl and leaving it in the sink.

“I’m fine,” Steve argues, yet he sways when he stands up and has to brace his sticky hands on the table.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.

Steve glares back.

“Sure,” Bucky drawls. “You are obviously ready for battle. With your blankets, maybe.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky bites back a smile and puts a hand on the small of Steve’s back, mirroring the touch from Steve an hour ago. Steve doesn’t lean into the touch, but he does not push Bucky away.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed,” Bucky says.

“I can do it myself,” Steve grumbles. He trips on his feet a little as he walks, but successfully manages to get to what Bucky assumes is the bathroom.

Bucky watches Steve wash his hands and clean his teeth at another sink, frowning at the bubbles that gather at Steve’s mouth. For once, Bucky is glad to be fae. All he needs to do is wish for his teeth to be clean and they are.

“You don’t gotta follow me around,” Steve throws over his shoulder.

“I’m here to assure your safety,” Bucky replies. “That includes making sure you end up in bed and not on the floor.”

“Are you going to tuck me in too?” Steve snaps, lips turned down in annoyance.

Bucky levels him with a flat look. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, yes.”

Steve’s bedroom is as cozy and warm as his soul, with a big bed full of blankets and pillows right in the middle of it. Bucky fights the urge to roll around in it and leave his scent, choosing instead to lean against the doorframe and observe as Steve divests himself of his uniform.

It is fascinating, how much Steve changes when he is not surrounded by blue, red, and white. His shoulders loosen, expressions softens, and the weight he seems to carry around is left behind. It is a warrior shedding the violence and anger and finding a little bit of peace.

Bucky kind of wants to hug him and never let go.

As is, he waits until Steve is only in his sleep clothes before he moves, pulling down the soft blankets that make Steve’s bed and patting the mattress. “In you go.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” Steve groans, hiding his face behind his hands. Bucky can still see the blush that tinges his cheeks and neck.

“I told you it was a wonderful idea,” Bucky answers, amused. “Now get in.”

“I’m a grown man,” Steve says, letting his hands fall to his sides. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, the perfect picture of surprise. “I’ve fought in wars.”

“So have I,” Bucky replies. “I still like it when someone tucks me in.”

“People _tuck you in_?”

“Not people,” Bucky corrects him. “The hounds. They like to make sure we are safe and warm. Although I think that’s because, if we are tucked in, it takes us longer to get up when we see them trying to steal our food.”

“Oh my god,” Steve says faintly, looking like he’s two seconds away from face planting on his bed.

“So, in you go.” Bucky pats the bed again, staring expectantly up at Steve.

Steve moves slowly, face scrunched up like he’s eaten something particularly rotten, but he slides into bed. He wiggles around a little until he’s comfortable, lying down on his side with his hands folded under his pillow. He looks like a petulant child and Bucky is endlessly charmed.

With great care, Bucky pulls the blankets up to Steve’s shoulders, making sure to tuck the fabric in at the sides and create a soft and warm cocoon for Steve to sleep in. He takes his time doing it, if only because it annoys Steve so much.

“There you go,” Bucky says once he’s done, proud of himself. “Safe and sound.”

“Thanks, I hate it,” Steve snarks, blond hair a spikey mess peeking out from under the blankets. Yet he cannot hide the way he relaxes even more, body loose and pliant.

“Then I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” Bucky sniffs, plopping down on the single arm chair that rests between a window and Steve’s dresser. “Sweet dreams.”

“Nightmares, you mean,” Steve grumbles, kicking of his feet a few times before he sighs. “You can go now.”

“Sleep and I’ll leave,” Bucky tells him.

Steve mutters under his breath, voice muffled by the blankets. He’s still scowling when he surrenders to sleep, the lines between his brows smoothing out as he lets himself go. Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Ceiling man?” Bucky whispers.

“You may call me Jarvis,” Jarvis answers faintly, as if not to disturb Steve from well-deserved sleep.

“Will you please let Lady Nat know I have followed her orders?”

“Agent Romanoff is already aware,” Jarvis answers. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Bucky stays for another handful of minutes, watching Steve while he sleeps. He looks younger like this, unburdened, soul shining with warmth. Bucky wants to climbs into bed with him, to gather Steve in his arms and breathe him in. He hasn’t earned that kind of comfort. Not yet.

With a sigh, Bucky stands up. Starlight is waiting and it is time to go home.

 

**

 

Bucky manages to stay away for three whole hours. He reasons with himself that checking in on Steve is merely part of their deal. It still skirts the edges of a lie, something he cannot even tell himself to excuse his behavior.

Bucky loves being fae, but it sure has its downsides sometimes.

Starlight neighs when Bucky fixes his saddle, disapproval in the tense lines of his neck.

“Shuddup,” Bucky murmurs, cheeks flushing despite himself. He knows this is pathetic, but much like the Hunt, Bucky cannot resist the call of Steve’s soul. “I’ll give you another carrot, just take me to Steve.”

Starlight flicks his tail, hitting Bucky on the back. There are no more complaints for him now that he’s getting what he wants.

They stop at what Bucky will soon think of as their spot on the roof of Avengers Tower. The sky is dark and devoid of clouds, with the moon shining off the glass and metal that makes up the Tower and illuminating their path.

Bucky isn’t surprised when the door opens for him, followed seconds later by Jarvis saying, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Bucky replies, polite. “I did not know if I would be welcomed.”

“Agent Romanoff and Thor have vouched for you,” Jarvis tells him. “But Sir wants me to remind you that if you hurt Captain Rogers, no one will ever find your body.”

“I will never hurt him. That is a promise,” Bucky vows. “Could you take me to Steve?”

“If you’d step into the elevator, please.”

Bucky frowns, confusion clearing when the big metal box slides its doors open again. _So that’s an elevator_ , Bucky thinks, waiting until it takes him to Steve’s floor.

The apartment is quiet when Bucky comes in, which means Steve must still be asleep. Bucky is silent as he walks to Steve’s room, feet barely touching the floor, careful not to disturb his warrior. The brightness of Steve’s soul peeks from under the closed door, illuminating the hallway and leading Bucky where he wants to be.

Wrapped in magic, Bucky makes no sound when he pushes the door open. Steve is sprawled on the bed and holding tightly to one of his pillows. The blankets are pooled at his waist instead of tucked in around him, a sign of restless sleep that matches the furrow of Steve’s brow and the sweat clinging to his forehead. Bucky moves closer, distress pooling at his gut.

Bucky is no stranger to nightmares. To many, he is one himself. Yet it strikes him as wrong for Steve to be plagued with fear while he sleeps, instead of the peace he so deserves.

Steve whimpers, breath hitching in his throat and muscles twitching. There is agony in the deep lines of his face, the heavy scent of fear and hurt and despair thick in the air. Bucky grunts, a low sound that comes from deep inside, and climbs into bed with Steve.

“I’m here,” Bucky says, laying a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You are safe. You are not alone. I’m right here.”

Steve whimpers again, body curling into a tight ball and rolling closer to Bucky. Bucky sits up straight, back against the headboard, and moves his hand so he’s sliding his palm up and down Steve’s back in soothing motions.

“You’re safe,” Bucky repeats, lacing his voice with reassurance and calm. It is almost the same tone he uses to lure people to the Hunt, but now he leaves the compulsion aside. He does not want to lure Steve in like this. It would not be right. “It’s alright, Steve. I’m here.”

Steve twitches again and then settles, back arching into Bucky’s touch. Bucky doesn’t stop what he’s doing, whispering sweet words of safety to Steve’s ears, hoping to bring Steve some semblance of peace.

It seems to be working. Steve’s body relaxes inch by inch, and the agonized expression he wore smooths out into one of calm. The acrid scent in the air dissipates, and soon all Bucky can smell again is ink, coffee, and Steve.

Bucky hums and bends his head, antlers framing Steve’s messy hair. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Buck?” Steve slurs, eyes heavy with sleep. He tilts his head up, forehead bumping against Bucky’s nose.

“Shhh,” Bucky quiets him down. He ignores the butterflies flipping around his stomach at the closeness they share. “Go back to sleep.”

“You sleep,” Steve grumbles and kicks his blankets off, knees knocking into Bucky’s. “You’re here?”

“I am in your dreams,” Bucky answers, unwilling to give Steve the truest answer.

Yes, he is here.

Yes, he could not keep away.

“‘S a good dream,” Steve mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Keep nightmares away.”

“I will,” Bucky promises, lightly nuzzling Steve’s hairline. “I’ll keep watch. You sleep.”

Steve sighs, deep and content, and falls back to sleep. Bucky breathes him in and presses his hand to Steve’s back, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Steve is safe now, just as Bucky said he would be.


	2. Steve

Steve wakes up gradually, the last lingering heaviness of sleep leaving him as he stretches and turns on his back, toes wiggling under a mass of blankets. He feels more rested than he has in years, muscles loose and body incredibly warm.

Something must be _incredibly wrong_.

“Jarvis, did something happen?” Steve asks as he sits up on the bed, an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine and settling in his stomach.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis replies. “Is there anything in particular you wish to know?”

Steve frowns at himself, mind going back to the past couple of days.

Out of the ordinary doesn’t really mean anything when one is an Avenger, especially considering the whole Wild Hunt business. It’s not every day Steve learns that fae are real and, apparently, friends with Thor’s family, but that doesn’t seem so surprising when Steve’s literally fought aliens from outer space two weeks after he woke up from being asleep for _70 years under ice_.

Suddenly being taken by the leader of the Wild Hunt? It’s just another day in Steve’s life.

What _isn’t_ usual is for him to sleep for more than five consecutive hours, through the night, and without any nightmares to plague him.

“No, Jarvis,” Steve answers, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Thank you. Is everyone down for breakfast?”

“Everyone but Sir. Miss Potts dragged him to bed only a few hours ago.”

Steve snorts. That means Tony’s been down at the labs blowing things up for most of the night.

“Thanks,” Steve says again, because it pays to be polite to the A.I. that controls his home.

He still feels like he’s missing something as he makes his way to the bathroom, but no answers spring to mind. He almost chalks it all up to the stress from the past few days—he knows adrenaline crashes are often the cause of a good night’s sleep, but they don’t usually involve him feeling, well, safe and protected.

It’s when Steve heads to the kitchen that he stops in his tracks. His eyes widen when he stares at the fruit bowl, which he’s certain he left in the sink last night, in the middle of his table. Filled with fresh fruit.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach all but disappearing. “Hey, Jarvis,” he asks, “was Bucky here last night?”

“Yes,” Jarvis replies. “He stayed until you fell asleep.”

Steve takes in a shaky breath. He remembers Bucky insisting on tucking him in last night, but that’s not the only memory that comes to mind. Steve recalls his dream of Bucky beside him in bed, a gentle hand on his back, telling him he’s safe and the gentle calm that followed those words.

Only Steve isn’t sure that was all a dream. Not anymore.

Yet he’s not sure he wants to find out the truth: that Bucky really _was_ here last night and kept his nightmares away.

Steve leaves the fruits where they are and heads down for breakfast.

Natasha is the first one to notice him, eyes tracking his every movement over the rim of her fox coffee mug. Steve can tell by the crinkles around her eyes that she’s smiling at him, so he feels justified when he sticks his tongue out at her.

“You look well-rested,” Natasha says, a twinkle in her eye that makes Steve suspicious. “The pillow prints on your cheek really bring out your eyes.”

“Natasha is right,” Thor pipes up, clapping Steve on the shoulder once before he starts stockpiling on food. “You look better.”

“Thank you,” Steve sniffs and rubs a hand over his cheek. “I’m trying something new.”

Natasha’s smile widens. “Sleeping through the night?”

“That does have its benefits,” Bruce murmurs, hair a mess and glasses sliding down his nose, still not all the way awake.

Steve doesn’t answer, because that’s exactly what it is. Instead, he pads over to Clint, poking him in the ribs once to make him let go of the coffee pot.

“Did space guy leave?” Clint struggling only a little bit to relinquish his hold on the pot.

“His name is Bucky,” Steve says, pouring himself a cup. “And yes, he left.”

“I wanted to ask him about the dogs,” Clint sighs, shoulders slumped.

“You’re not getting a space dog,” Natasha warns him.

“They’re hounds,” Thor corrects them, mouth full. “Nice pets, very loyal.”

“See?” Clint turns to Natasha.

Natasha points a finger at him. “ _No_.”

Steve lets them argue and heads over to Sam, who is pointedly stabbing his pancakes and ignoring Steve.

“I’m okay,” Steve tells him, knocking their knees together under the table.

“Of course you are,” Sam deadpans. “You’re always okay. Nothing is ever wrong with you.”

“Bucky didn’t hurt me.”

“Excuse me if I don’t trust the alien who _kidnapped my best friend_.”

Steve huffs. “Then trust _me_. It was weird, yeah, but all he did was make me eat fruit and tuck me into bed.”

Sam stares up at him, baffled. “He tucked you into bed.”

Steve shrugs, but he can feel the blood rushing to his face and turning his cheeks pink. “I think he just wants to keep me safe.”

“Right.” Sam narrows his eyes. “Because that’s totally fine with you. Have you ever wondered _why_ he wants to do that? Maybe he’s just waiting for you to leave your guard down so he can kidnap you again and turn you into one of his space horses or something.”

Steve presses his lips together, because Sam kind of has a point. He knows Bucky has an ulterior motive — they didn’t strike a deal for nothing —, yet he doesn’t sense any kind of malicious intentions from Bucky. Bucky wants something from him, yes, but not something bad.

“He wouldn’t turn me into a horse,” Steve argues, and it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s what you focus on, sure.”

“Sam.” Steve sets his mug down and twirls on his chair, all so he can cup Sam’s face between his hands and squish his cheeks together. “I’m fine. Bucky won’t hurt me.”

Sam glares at him before cupping Steve’s face between his own hands, also squishing Steve’s cheeks together. “How do you know?” he asks, words all smushed.

“We made a deal.”

At Steve’s words, his friends go utterly silent.

Sam drops his hands so fast he hits Steve in the shoulders, dislodging Steve’s grip on him. Clint stares at him, wide-eyed, from over the coffee pot, which he is still holding to his chest. Natasha and Thor share a glance before looking back at Steve, their expressions torn between concern and curiosity. Even Bruce looks up from his tea to blink owlishly at Steve.

“You made a deal,” Sam repeats, “with a _fae_.”

“Yes?” Steve says slowly, and at the murderous look on Sam’s face, he quickly adds, “But it’s fine! One of the stipulations is that I’m safe, so… it’s okay.”

“You,” Sam pokes Steve in the chest with a finger, “have no sense of self-preservation.”

“Hey,” Steve rubs at his chest, hurt, “you know I’m getting better about that.”

And it’s true. Steve has been making an effort not to put himself in situations where death is imminent. It’s been weeks since he last jumped off a building.

“What was the deal?” Thor asks, waving a fork at Steve. “Between you and Bucky?”

“I had to agree to let Bucky come here with me and make sure I was safe,” Steve answers, and then turns to Sam. “That’s how I know he won’t hurt me. He’s already had plenty of chances to kill me or maim me or turn me into a horse, but he didn’t.”

“And what else?” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

Steve worries at him bottom lip. “Nothing.”

“You’re still a terrible liar.” Natasha smiles at him, small and amused.

Steve sighs, because he knows it’s useless to fight against Nat’s observation skills. “I also had to agree to see him again.”

“Aha!” Sam shouts, so loud that he startles Bruce into spilling some of his tea. “So he _does_ want something.”

“Yes.” Thor nods, and then waggles his eyebrows. “He wants the pleasure of Steve’s company.”

Natasha lifts her mug in agreement.

“That’s—” Steve sputters, cheeks flushed. He can’t find it in himself to deny it, because he has a feeling that’s exactly what Bucky wants.

“Space dude has a crush on Steve,” Clint teases, and then perks up. “Do you think—”

“You’re not getting another dog,” Natasha cuts him off.

“I’ve known Bucky for several lifetimes,” Thor tells them. “I would trust him at my back in fight.”

“You’re a god,” Sam says, scowling at Thor. “You don’t count.”

“Bucky did take care of Steve last night,” Natasha offers. “Or, more importantly, he got Steve to take care of himself.

“I take care of myself all the time,” Steve grumbles.

“No, you don’t,” all of his friends say at the same time.

“Can we please forget about this?” Steve pleads. “Bucky’s gone, I’m here, and breakfast is getting cold.”

“But I want to hear more about your fae crush,” Clint says with a grin.

“Yes.” Natasha leans forward. “Do you think his antlers are as big as his—”

“Goodbye!” Steve grabs his mug and stands up, chair dragging across the floor. “I’d tell you all to have a nice morning, but you don’t deserve it.”

Thor’s laughter echoes through the room, and it’s soon joined by Nat’s snickers and Clint’s chuckles. Bruce just waves goodbye at him and sips his tea, although Steve is sure he’ll have something to say about all of this later.

Sam is the only one who follows him out, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s when they get on the elevator. “We just worry about you,” he says. “Seeing you get kidnapped by a dude with antlers in the middle of a fight wasn’t exactly fun.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve bumps him back. “I really don’t think we have to worry about Bucky, though.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful.”

Sam snorts. “And I’m a pretty princess.”

Steve grins and clutches at his chest. “The prettiest princess in all the land.”

Sam lightly punches on the shoulder, but Steve can see him fighting back a smile.

“I don’t know why I like you.” Sam shakes his head, fondness bleeding into his tone.

“It’s because I’m going to play live target and let you shoot at me during training today.”

Sam smiles at him, slow and wicked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just don’t hit me in the ass.”

Sam laughs. “I make no promises.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His friends are terrible and Steve wouldn’t know what to do without them.

 

**

 

Steve stands under the hot spray of the shower and curses ever befriending Sam Wilson. The fading bruises on his ass still hurt a little, along with the perfectly round mark of a rubber bullet right over his right nipple.

This is what he gets for trying to be a good friend: pain and the inability to sit down comfortably for the next couple of hours.

At least whatever worry Sam had over him and what happened with Bucky is gone, replaced instead by the utter joy Sam feels whenever he gets to play target practice with Steve. Steve has to admit, it is kind of fun. Sam and the other Avengers don’t hold back with him, don’t treat him like he’ll break, something Steve’s been fighting against for most of his life.

With a final rinse of his hair, Steve turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He grabs one of his fluffy bathroom towels and starts drying off, careful of his injuries, and then wraps it around his waist.

The stubble on his jaw has grown past the point Steve is comfortable with. He’s due for a shave, having skipped that step of his morning routine earlier today. He grabs his kit and leaves it open on the sink, at the ready, right before wiping the condensation off the mirror.

And then Steve screams.

Bucky stares at him through the reflection on the mirror, standing behind Steve and leaning against the doorframe. “Hello.”

“ _Bucky_!” Steve twirls around, hand gripping at the towel around his waist, the only scrap of fabric protecting him from being naked.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but then his eyes zero in on the bruise around Steve’s nipple. In a flash, Bucky crowds Steve against the sink, touch soft but demanding, his voice a low grow when he says, “Who hurt you?”

“No one,” Steve answers, and then makes a sound that _does not_ resemble a squeal when Bucky gently traces his thumb over Steve’s bruised nipple.

“You lie,” Bucky hisses, eyes dark and head thrown back, antlers away from Steve’s face.

“I’m fine.” Steve bats Bucky’s hand away from his chest, face so red he feels like he’s going to explode. “This is nothing. It happened during training.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, but doesn’t move away from Steve, his hands resting on either side of Steve’s ribs. “Training?”

“Yes.” Steve tries not to squirm at Bucky’s touch. “It’ll be gone in a few hours.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he stares down at Steve’s chest, thumbs rubbing circles over Steve’s skin. “You need to be careful.”

The only reason Steve doesn’t roll his eyes is because he’s too busy focusing on keeping his towel in place. Even so, his voice is steady when he says, “People keep saying that a lot to me today.”

Bucky frowns. “You should listen to them.”

“Whatever.” Steve gulps, and when Bucky makes no moves to let him go, he gently places a hand on the middle of Bucky’s chest and pushes him away. “Can you go now? I need to get dressed.”

Bucky doesn’t fight Steve’s touch. At Steve’s words, his lips curl at the corners, the anger in his eyes shifting to something Steve would think it’s hunger.

“I don’t mind,” Bucky says, a slow smirk stretching across his face.

“ _I_ mind.” Steve moves his hand to Bucky’s shoulder, turning him around and pushing him out of the bathroom. “Stay there,” he warns, and then closes the door on Bucky’s face.

Steve lets out a slow breath, willing himself to calm down. His skin still tingles where Bucky touched him, but Steve tries to pretend that's because of his bruise—and not at all because Bucky's thumb on his nipple felt good.

No, sir.

Steve takes his time shaving, refusing to disrupt his plans just because Bucky walked in on him getting out of the shower. Maybe if he takes long enough, Bucky will get bored and leave.

“No, he won't,” Steve mumbles to himself. He's not naive enough to think Bucky will just let him go. After all, that was not part of their deal.

“Did you say something?” Bucky yells, voice muffled through the door.

“Oh my god,” Steve wheezes, and then yells back, “Go wait in the living room.”

There's a bit of silence before Bucky says, “Okay!”

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling, asking for strength. This must be karma. This must be the universe’s way of getting back at him for all the worry he put his Ma through.

Ten minutes later, Steve leaves the bathroom. He's clean shaven once again, hair a little damp and curling at his forehead, and wearing his favorite dark blue fuzzy robe. He didn't bring any clothes with him when he went to shower, and as much as Steve values his privacy, he didn't want to put on his sweaty training clothes again.

Bucky is nowhere to be seen in the bedroom, but Steve is still quick to pull on some underwear before taking off his robe and getting dressed. He goes for a pair of well-worn sweatpants and a plain white short-sleeved shirt. He needs the comfort right now, to deal with whatever is this… _thing_ with Bucky.

“You can do this,” Steve whispers to himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He’s fought wars and aliens and Natasha when she was hangover, so he can face the dude who touched his nipple.

Really, he can.

Steve pads into the living room, and his heart almost stops in his chest at the sight in front of him.

Bucky is on the couch, mask discarded by his side. His hair, which Steve has only seen loose and falling to his shoulders, is braided back at the temples and away from his face, strands woven between antlers. He has Steve’s copy of _All Systems Red_ open in his hands. His brows are furrowed as he reads, pink tongue peeking out in concentration, and he seems so utterly focused that he doesn’t even bother looking up at Steve when he steps into the room.

Bucky looks kind of beautiful and Steve wants to slap himself.

Steve is so distracted by Bucky that it takes him a second to notice the big, round, fluffy mess at Bucky’s feet, currently chewing on one of Steve’s boots.

“You _stop that_!” Steve snaps despite himself, rushing to the hound and grabbing the end of his boot.

The hound growls and tugs at the boot, unwilling to part with it, it’s sharp fangs puncturing the fabric. Its eyes glow an unnatural red, yet Steve could swear it looks amused instead of angry.

“Bobby,” Bucky says in a calm voice, “let go.”

The hound, _Bobby_ , opens its jaws and lets go of the boot, almost sending Steve crashing to the floor. The only reason Steve doesn’t fall on his ass is because he falls on Bucky’s _lap_ instead, butt on top of Bucky’s thick thighs and back pressed against Bucky’s chest.

“Well, hello,” Bucky says, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of Steve’s neck.

Steve scrambles off of him and to the side, boot clutched to his chest, and totally doesn’t think about how warm and solid Bucky felt. On the floor, Bobby pants, grey tongue lolling out, his tail wiggling back and forth.

“Bad dog,” Steve tells Bobby, because it’s easier to focus on the hound in his living room than Bucky’s muscled _everything_.

Bobby barks once, as if agreeing with Steve.

“We’re sorry,” Bucky says, scratching between Bobby’s ears. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Bobby thought your boot was a toy.”

Steve glares at him. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Bucky’s eyes dance when he looks up at Steve and there’s a small smirk playing at his lips. “The colors and the gaping holes in the front and back didn’t exactly convince me he was wrong.”

Steve looks down at his rainbow peep toe boot, a gag gift from Tony after Steve came out to team, and sighs, “It had sentimental value.”

Bucky’s smirk vanishes, expression growing serious. He gently plucks the boot from Steve’s hands and holds it in between his own. Steve watches in confusion when Bucky closes his eyes, and then gasps when he feels a rush of tingly warmth spread through the room.

“What the fuck?” Steve asks, hands curling into fists.

Bucky opens his eyes and glances down at the boot, a satisfied smile now on his face. “Here you go.”

Steve catches the boot as Bucky dumps it in his lap, surprise coursing through him. There are no more teeth marks to be seen. The boot looks as new as the day Tony gifted it to him.

“How did you…?”

Bucky wiggles his fingers. “Magic.”

“Well,” Steve blinks, “that’s nice of you.”

Bucky preens a little, chest puffed out. “I am nice.”

At Bucky’s feet, Bobby snorts.

Steve’s lip twitch up. “I don’t think he agrees with you.”

“No one asked for his opinion,” Bucky says, side-eyeing his houd.

Bobby pointedly ignores Bucky’s stare and trots over to Steve, sitting down at his feet.

“Hello,” Steve says, hand extended so Bobby can sniff him. Steve has to admit that it feels a little weird to have a magical hound in his apartment, but his life hasn’t exactly been normal since, well, he got injected with the supersoldier serum.

Bobby sniffs him and then licks his fingers, wet tongue leaving a sticky trail of spit on Steve’s palm. Steve fights back a grimace in favor of petting Bobby right between the ears, sneakily wiping his hand clean.

“That’s enough.” Bucky interrupts the petting, his voice gruff, and snaps his fingers.

Bobby nudges Steve’s wrist with a cold nose and then pads over to Bucky. Instead of resuming his place at Bucky’s feet, he turns his back, giving Bucky a perfect view of his butt, and then flops down again.

“Rude,” Bucky grumbles, expression twisting into a scowl.

Bobby wags his tail, but otherwise remains quiet. Even Steve can tell he’s displeased, though, and has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to laugh.

It’s odd for Bucky to be angry at his hound, when all he did was lick Steve’s hand.

“What are you really doing here?” Steve asks, mind going back to Thor’s words during breakfast this morning. He flushes a little despite himself, unwilling to believe Bucky is here because he just wants to be around him.

There must be another reason. Something Steve can’t quite see just yet.

Bucky glances up at him, a strand of hair coming loose from one of his braids and tickling his chin. “You agreed to see me,” he says, eyes glinting. “So here I am.”

Steve makes a little sound of frustration. “So you just plan on popping in unannounced?”

“I announced myself,” Bucky argues with a faint and amused smile. “I said ‘hello’.”

“After you were in the bathroom with me!”

“Is that your objection?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “For me not to be in the bathroom with you?”

“Yes! I have _boundaries_. They should be respected.”

Bucky reaches out and places a hand on Steve’s knee. He sounds very serious when he says, “I will always respect you, Steve.”

“That’s—” Steve sputters a little, and then settles on a weak, “thank you.”

Bucky’s expression softens when he ducks his head in acknowledgement and gives Steve’s knee a squeeze. “I have no need for thank yous. You can keep them to yourself.”

That’s an odd statement to make, but Steve nods. “So… is that it? Did you just want me to see you? Because you can consider yourself seen.”

Bucky smiles a little, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Why are you so eager to be rid of me? Do I displease you?”

_Displease_ isn’t the right word. Bucky is very… pleasant, with his soft voice and blue eyes and warm hands. Steve just doesn’t understand what he _wants_ , striking that deal and coming around whenever he wants.

It doesn’t make _sense_. Even if what Thor said is true, why would someone like Bucky ever want to waste his time on someone like Steve?

Not that Steve says any of that. He keeps his doubts and suspicions to himself, at least for now.

“Just keep Bobby from chewing on my things,” Steve sighs, picking up his sketchbook from the coffee table and flipping to a blank page.

Bucky, with a book back in his hand, presses his knee against Steve’s. “As you wish.”

That night, long after Bucky is gone and when Steve is getting ready for bed, he somehow finds the book on his nightstand. There is something peeking out from between the pages. Curious, Steve flips open the book to find a blue and silver feather, resting there as if marking Bucky’s place.

Wary, Steve closes the book and tries not to think about what any of that means.

 

**

 

It keeps happening.

Steve is down at the laundry rooms, wearing only his Black Widow boxers and a pair of holey socks, busy separating his white t-shirts from his red ones. He knows the Tower has people to do this for him, but there’s something soothing about sorting laundry that takes him back to when he’d help his Ma with their clothes.

Plus, this way, no one touches his underwear but him.

Steve is about to start a cycle and queue up a few episodes of _Deadly Manners_ when he feels it. His neck prickles, hair standing on end. He’s being watched.

“Why is that barrel eating your clothes?”

Steve jumps and hits his hip on the washing machine, hands coming up to clutch at his pecs. Bucky is sitting on one of the ugly orange plastic chairs by the back wall, his feet crossed, with a baffled look on his face.

“It’s not a barrel,” Steve says, heart thudding in his chest. “It’s a washing machine. It washes your clothes for you.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You humans are… crafty.”

“And you’re rude,” Steve tells him, hands falling to his sides. “I thought I told you to announce yourself.”

“I apologize.” Bucky stands up and bends at the waist, sounding way too deadpan for it all not to be a joke, “Hello, Steve. I am here to see you.”

Steve closes his eyes and counts to ten. He can do this. He can talk to Bucky without clobbering him, even though he’s _infuriating_.

“Great, you’ve seen me. Bye.”

Bucky pouts, a slight jut of his bottom lip that does weird things to Steve’s heart. He walks closer and reaches for something behind him, which makes Steve tense and brace his feet. Bucky hasn’t hurt him, but is he going to attack?

“Here,” Bucky says, unbuckling his cloak and throwing it over Steve’s shoulders. He pointedly glances down at Steve’s chest. “You look cold.”

Blood rushes to Steve’s cheeks. He can feel his nipples harden under the chilly atmosphere of the laundry room and the heat of Bucky’s gaze, but he ignores all of that in favor of the absolute softness of the cloak that is now around his shoulders.

It must be some fae magic or something, but the fur is light while still being incredibly warm, coming down to cover Steve all the way down to his knees. It smells vaguely of freshly cut grass, but with an added something _else_. Steve can’t help but snuggle into it.

“This is nice,” Steve murmurs, kind of wanting to curl up into one of the chairs and take a nap.

Bucky smiles at him, small and fond. “It suits you,” he says, and then takes a step back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Bucky is gone before Steve can open his mouth and ask him: _what the fuck_?

 

**

 

The fruits in Steve’s bowl don’t rot. They stay fresh and juicy and beautiful, tempting, like they were plucked out of a painting and left for Steve to enjoy.

The blue and silver feather doesn’t bend. It stays perfectly straight while still maintaining its fragile delicacy, tucked in between the pages of whatever book Steve is reading at the moment.

The cloak doesn’t get dirty. It is never too warm or too constricting, always the perfect snuggle temperature for whenever Steve wants to wrap himself with it, keeping him safe and comfortable.

Natasha eyes the cloak when she shows up for Knitting Night, a hungry expression crossing over her face. She doesn’t say anything, but Steve still plops his butt down on top of it, stashing it safely under his buttcheeks. He’s not going to let her steal the cloak like she did his gravity blanket, and he’s willing to fight her for it.

“Steven,” is all Natasha says, a light smirk gracing her features.

Steve narrows his eyes at her. “Natasha.”

“Is that from your crush?”

Steve refuses to be embarrassed. The cloak’s been a huge help, from keeping him toasty warm to giving him good dreams. “Bucky thought I was cold.”

Natasha’s smirk widens. “You knew who I was talking about, then.”

A blush works its way to Steve’s face. He did kind of walk into that one, so all he can say is, “Shut it.”

Natasha raises her hands in surrender, but Steve is not fooled. He knows she’s not going to let this go, not any time soon.

Sam joins them a few minutes later and makes suspicious eyes at the cloak, although he doesn’t comment on it. “What are we working on tonight?” he asks, bag of yarn at his feet and needles in hand.

“Baby beanies for me,” Steve answers. “The hospital needs more.”

“I got sweaters,” Sam says, and then looks down at the misshapen lump on his lap. “Or it could be a blanket?”

Steve snorts. Sam isn’t the best at knitting, but it’s the effort that counts. “And you, Nat?”

“Dick cozies,” Natasha says, already counting stitches.

Steve frowns. “Wouldn’t that be… itchy?”

“Clint lost a bet,” Natasha answers, like that explains everything.

To be fair, it kind of does.

“Clint should know better,” Sam sighs.

Steve nods in agreement. They knit and talk, updating each other on the latest SHIELD gossip and Tower drama. Sam is surprisingly good at hearing things he shouldn’t, while Natasha just mostly… knows about everything that is happening everywhere.

After about thirty minutes of knitting, Steve’s stomach starts to rumble. The sound is so loud that it cuts Sam off mid-sentence.

“Dude.” Sam elbows him on the side. “C’mon.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, sheepish. “I’ll go get something to eat. Do you guys want anything?”

“Pizza in an hour?” Natasha suggests.

Sam nods. “Yes, please.”

Steve heads to the kitchen. He plans on grabbing the box of cookies he bought during yesterday’s grocery run, but Bucky’s fruits call his attention instead. They look so good, the apples and oranges and peaches and other things, all assembled together. Steve’s mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into one of Cortland apples, to feel its texture and taste its flavor.

There really isn’t a reason why Steve hasn’t eaten them yet, aside from the overall suspicion he has of Bucky’s… everything. Still, the feather and cloak have been nothing but helpful and lovely, so it makes sense the fruits will be too.

Decided, Steve grabs two apples and goes back o the living room, plopping down on the couch. Right on top of his cloak. Which Natasha apparently is not going to steal.

Yay.

“What is that?” Natasha asks, eyes trained on Steve’s hands.

“Where have you been hiding all this pretty fruit?” Sam leans in and plucks one of the apples from Steve’s hand, squeezing it a little. “Damn.”

Steve snatches the apple back, bringing it to his mouth. “Bucky gave them to me,” he says, about to bite down on his delicious snack.

Only he doesn’t.

Because as soon as he says _Bucky_ , Sam lunges forward and and bats the apple right out of Steve’s hand.

“Don’t eat that!” Sam yells, grabbing the other apple and throwing it through one of Steve’s open windows.

“What the _hell_ , Sam?” Steve snaps, hands now curled into fists.

“I’d say,” Natasha murmurs, watching them with avid eyes while she knits.

“That’s how fae get people!” Sam explains, widely gesturing with one of his needles. “They give you food and drinks and then next thing you know, you’re trapped. _Forever_.”

“I would never do that,” Bucky says from behind the couch. “Not to Steve.”

Sam jumps and throws his needle at him. Bucky grabs it before it hits his face, and gently places it down on the couch again.

“Buck,” Steve sighs. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Hello, Steve,” Bucky says with a small smile. “I am here to see you.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, torn between frustration and amusement. “Say that _before_ you show up out of nowhere next time, okay?”

“Next time,” Sam snorts without any humor. “He just admitted he traps people with fresh fruit and pretty things. What if he tries that with us?”

Bucky scowls at him. “I won’t. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Natasha laughs under her breath. “Should I be offended?” she teases.

Steve watches in fascination when Bucky flushes a little in embarrassment.

“The opposite, Lady Romanoff,” Bucky says, bowing his head a little. “You are much too good for the Wild Hunt.”

Natasha smiles, flattered. “If you kept me, you’d be out of a job.”

Bucky’s embarrassment changes to something cold and calculating that is mixed with respect. “Yes.”

Natasha nods. “I wouldn’t want to dethrone you,” she says, and then pats the spot on the couch between her and Steve. “Sit. If you’re staying, you’re helping.”

Bucky glances at Steve first. “Am I staying?”

Steve ignores the butterflies in his stomach. “You’re staying. We need someone to hold our yarn.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“You’re outvoted,” Natasha replies, and then throws her phone at Sam. “You can call and pay for pizza since you took food right out of Steve’s mouth.”

A low growl comes from Bucky, who is now snuggled against Steve’s side. “He what?”

Sam levels Bucky with a glare that would make soldiers cry, but Bucky just bares his teeth at him.

“Sam, pizza.” Steve turns to face Bucky, grabbing the soft yellow yarn he’s using for the beanies and looping a loose strand around one of Bucky’s antlers. “Bucky, help.”

Bucky goes completely still, eyes a little wide and jaw slack when he stares up at Steve. Steve, too good at ignoring his own feelings, pushes down the thought that he’s made a terrible mistake and keeps looping yarn around Bucky’s rack.

Natasha joins in, dumping the purple yarn of Clint’s dick cozy on Bucky’s lap and wrapping some of it around Bucky’s hands. “This way you can help both of us,” Natasha explains. “Just make sure they don’t get tangled.”

Bucky twitches once and then settles, still looking a bit like his entire world has turned upside down. Steve can relate, so he doesn’t stop himself from tracing a thumb down the sharp line of Bucky’s jaw and cupping his hand around Bucky’s neck.

“I appreciate you doing this,” Steve says, voice low, keeping his thanks to himself.

Bucky’s breath hitches and he leans into the touch, eyes a little glazed over. “Yes,” he says, licking his lips. “Always.”

Steve stares at him for a moment too long, taking in Bucky’s flushed cheeks and dark eyes and pink lips. It wouldn’t be too much of an effort to lean in and kiss him. Especially not when Bucky’s eyes flickering down to Steve’s mouth and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

The shutter of a camera startles Steve out of his thoughts. Sam has Natasha’s phone in hand and aimed at them, expression a mix of exasperation, disgust, and glee on his face.

“This explains things,” Sam says, clicking away at the phone. “I mean, I still think you’re an idiot, but I get it now.”

Steve flushes and drops his hand from Bucky’s neck, at the same time his and Sam’s phones vibrate with incoming text messages. Steve doesn’t have to pick up his phone to know Sam just posted the picture he took to the group chat.

“I hate you,” Steve grumbles.

“You are not alone,” Bucky says, narrowed eyes focused on Sam.

The look doesn’t have the same effect when Bucky’s antlers are decorated. He looks more adorable than mean, something Steve has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to say.

Sam grins at both of them and sits down, pulling his mess of a sweater blanket into his lap. “Such an idiot.”

Bucky growls again and throws his head back, stopping only when Natasha shushes him.

“You’re going to mess up Steve’s work,” she says.

Bucky goes deathly still again, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest. “I will not,” he says, as if making a promise to himself. “I will help you with your crafts.”

Bucky does. And joins in the conversation when Natasha directs it to fighting styles, giving insightful and constructive comments as the discussion progresses. Even Sam has to drop the animosity when faced with Bucky’s knowledge, and by the end of it they’re both arguing against Natasha about the advantages of an air strike.

Steve grins down at his knitting and feels affection rush through him. He likes this, all of them together, talking and getting along and having fun. He likes it so much that he has to admit that maybe Sam and Natasha are right.

Steve does have a crush on Bucky.

 

**

 

As Steve has come to learn, happiness and laughter don’t always last.

That night, he finds himself in a field of ash and blood, bodies thrown over each other, the rotten stink of death filling his nose. It is a familiar sight, for Steve has lived it before, but it is not welcome.

The cold sting of fear crawls up Steve’s spine. There is no where for him to run, no shelter, just death and the fallen faces of his fellow soldiers.

It is then that Steve feels it. The first drop of blood falls on his cheek, the thick and warm liquid sliding down his face. Another follows, and another, until it drips into Steve’s eyes, into his mouth, drowning him in it.

“Steve.”

Steve chokes, hands slippery with blood trying to claw at his own throat.

“ _Steve_.”

The coppery taste of blood fills Steve’s mouth. It’s all he can taste, all he can smell, all he can see and feel.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Come back to me.”

With a final gurgling breath, Steve dies.

 

**

 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re safe, Steve. You’re safe.”

Steve shakes his head, hands scrambling for purchase until his fingers catch and hold on to leather straps. His throat is closed, lungs burning as he tries to gasp up for air, nothing but a weak wheezing sound bursting through his lips.

“Shhh,” a warm voice whispers, “I got you. I’m right here.”

Steve turns to the voice, forehead bumping against a chin. There are arms around him, holding him close, and hands rubbing up and down his spine.

The smell of blood is gone, replaced by that of earth and sweat and—

“Bucky?” Steve asks, voice breaking.

“It’s me,” Bucky answers, lips at Steve’s temple. “You’re safe. Nightmares can’t find you now.”

Steve takes a deep breath, shakes running through his body, and lifts his head. Bucky stares down at him, the lines around his eyes and mouth deep with concern.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve breathes out, breath hitching at the same time his body goes pliant. He doesn’t fight the tears gathering in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. He just presses closer and tries to forget the death, the blood, the bodies.

“You’re okay,” Bucky whispers, nuzzling at Steve’s hairline.

Little by little, Steve calms down. The fear and despair give way to embarrassment, both for breaking down in front of Bucky and for being this weak in the first place.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes and tries to push away from Bucky’s arms.

Bucky tightens his hold and keeps him in place. He brings one hand to cup Steve’s cheek, thumb brushing away a fallen tear. “It is never easy, to live the way we do. We fight, and we might win, but we are not unscathed. Death leaves their mark on all of us. You don’t ever have to feel ashamed of the scars you carry around with you.”

Steve swallows past a lump in his throat, settling back into Bucky’s arms. “I should be stronger than this.”

Bucky snorts, hand moving from Steve’s cheek to rest on the back of his neck. “You are one of the strongest people I know, and I’ve known both gods and monsters.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, but he can’t deny the spark of pleasure in his chest at Bucky’s words.

Bucky smiles down at him, eyes raking over Steve. “You have a soul that shines as bright and as fierce as the sun. I wish you could see it and believe in your own strength.”

Steve bites down on the inside of his cheek not to cry, chin wobbling a little. In the dark, and with Bucky next to him, it is a little bit easier to pretend that’s true.

“You can see my soul,” Steve says, grasping at something that’s been floating between them since they’ve met.

“I can,” Bucky confirms. “It is a warrior’s soul.”

“And you’re attracted to it.”

In the dark, and with Bucky next to him, it is a little bit easier for Steve to be brave.

Steve is still not expecting the way Bucky tenses a little beside him. Nor the way Bucky’s cheek get a little bit pink.

“It is beautiful,” Bucky says, choosing his words carefully. “But it is not all of who you are.”

Steve turns that over in his head, his own face blushing a little. “So you’re attracted to other parts of me too.”

Bucky shrugs and doesn’t offer an answer. Steve finds that he doesn’t really need any, at least not right now, not past what he already knows.

Steve shivers a little, from both cold and exhaustion. Nightmares always leave him drained, but not enough so he can fall back asleep.

“Here.” Bucky moves around until he brings something to Steve’s lips, the silvery glint of a metal flask catching Steve’s eyes. “This will help.”

Steve glances down at it. “What is it?”

“A warm drink for rough nights,” Bucky answers with a slight smile. “It is fae and it will help.”

“It won’t put me to sleep for a hundred years, will it?”

“I am not a witch and you are not Sleeping Beauty.”

Steve grins up at Bucky, suddenly not as tired. “You know Sleeping Beauty?”

“Hush.” Bucky bumps the flask against Steve’s bottom lip. “Drink.”

Steve, for once, does as he’s told. The drink is indeed warm, tasting as sweet as honey when Steve swallows. Drinking it feels a little bit like a hug, in a way, spreading warmth from Steve’s stomach and all through his body.

Steve licks his lips and hums once he’s done, eyes once again heavy with sleep. “‘S good.”

“It will help you sleep,” Bucky murmurs, tracing the sharp edge of Steve’s jaw with a finger. “No more nightmares.”

“S’ ‘cause I forgot the cloak,” Steve slurs, already halfway gone. “Gotta remember.”

“It’s here now,” Bucky says, and Steve smiles when he sees that yes, the cloak is covering him now.

“You’re a good,” Steve tells Bucky, wiggling in bed until he’s properly burritoed in his favorite blankets. “Sam’s wrong about you. You don’t wanna hurt me.”

It’s important for Bucky to know that Steve _gets it_. Bucky just wants what’s best for him, because his soul makes Bucky all warm and tingly inside. Just like Bucky’s _everything_ makes _Steve_ all warm and tingly inside.

Bucky chuckles, and the sound wraps itself around Steve’s heart. “That’s good to know.”

Steve frowns at himself. “Did I say that out loud?”

Bucky leans in and bumps their foreheads together, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’ll keep your secret.”

“That’s nice.” Steve yawns, nightmare all but forgotten, and closes his eyes. “Goodbye now.”

The kiss Steve feels pressed to his forehead a second later is, for sure, nothing but a sweet dream.

 

**

 

“Why are you making love to your shield?”

Steve sighs, but doesn’t bother looking up at Tony. He continues to use the oil Bucky left as a gift for him, spreading it through the vibranium and appreciating how shiny it makes his shield look. It smells good, too, rich and powerful and a little bit like flowers.

“You’re not the only one who cares about how pretty your weapons look,” Steve says dryly, and then fights back a smile at Tony’s unimpressed look.

“I have an image to maintain,” Tony huffs. “You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to change out of your holey shorts before coming down to see me.”

Steve glances down at the rips on the hem of his shorts, the ruined fabric stretched and worn, and shrugs. “I’m not going to put on nice clothes only for you to set them on fire.”

“That was one time!”

“One time is more than enough. Now you only get this.”

“Hobo Steve,” Sam mumbles, dutifully repairing one of his wings. “Steve only dresses up for one person now.”

Tony lights up. “The Great Prince of the Forest. Tell us Steve, how is your Buckaroo?”

Steve ignores the way his face heats. A week ago, he woke up to an empty bed and a small jar of oil on his nightstand, the scent of Bucky still on his sheets. His stomach flips whenever he thinks about Bucky’s arms around him, his soft words of comfort as he brought Steve back down from a nightmare.

“He’s fine,” Steve says, voice sounding strange and awkward even to his own ears.

He’s not missing Bucky.

Really. He isn’t.

This is the longest time he’s spent without Bucky popping up to see him, but everything is _fine_.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tony asks, twirling around in his chair so he’s facing Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Tony. We’re fine.”

Tony is quiet for a few seconds, until he suddenly says, “I miss Pepper and Rhodey when they’re gone.”

Steve stops spreading oil through the star and rests his shield on his lap. “I know.”

“It’s okay if you miss Bambi too,” Tony tells him.

Steve squirms a little in his seat, and then very quietly repeats, “I know. And his name is Bucky.”

“That’s me.”

Tony yelps and slides off his chair, but not before throwing the wrench he had in his hand at Bucky’s head. Bucky grabs it in the air and then politely sets it back on Tony’s table before turning to Steve.

“Hello, Steve. I am here to see you.”

Steve barely stops himself from rushing to Bucky and wrapping him in a hug. He doesn’t fight back the slow smile that spreads over his face, though, showing how pleased he is to have his Bucky back.

“Hi,” Steve says, a little breathless and very happy.

“Hi,” Bucky says back with a grin of his own. His eyes flicker down momentarily to the oil Steve is using, happy grin turning into a pleased one. He doesn’t make any comments about it, but Steve can tell Bucky likes to see him enjoy one of his gifts.

“Hi,” Steve repeats, still smiling.

“We’ve covered that,” Sam interrupts them, side-eyeing Steve, much to Steve’s embarrassment. “Bucky, I see you’re still alive.”

“Samuel. As if I’d give you the pleasure of being undead,” Bucky sniffs, but then a second later they smile at each other, amused and friendly.

Knitting Night did a lot to bring those two together, something Steve will always be thankful for.

“You!” Tony points a finger at Bucky once he’s gotten up. “How do you _keep_ getting in here?”

Bucky blinks at Tony, a slight furrow between his brows. “Through the roof.”

“Yes, but _how_?”

“Jarvis lets me in.”

Tony sputters and clutches at his chest, the perfect picture of betrayal. “Jarvis, explain yourself.”

“Good morning, Sir. Bucky does not present a threat to the Tower or its inhabitants. As per our security protocols and, with Agent Romanoff’s permission, I’ve given Bucky access to the common floors and Captain Rogers’ apartments.”

Steve doesn’t know whether to be happy or suspicious of Natasha’s involvement in all of this. He also hadn’t really considered how Bucky was getting in and out of the Tower. He figured Bucky had some kind of magic that made it possible for him move through places as he wished, but it makes sense for Jarvis to be aware of and allow him in the Tower.

“With _Agent Romanoff’s permission_?” Tony repeats in a shrill tone. “This is _my_ Tower! You should’ve asked me..”

“I did, Sir,” Jarvis replies, and a second later a screen appears in front of them.

In it, they all see Tony bent over a table and furiously scribbling over some metric paper, a frenzied look in his eyes. There are candy wrappers and empty Dorito bags strewn around, as well at least eight water bottles rolling around the floor.

“ _Sir,_ ” video Jarvis says, _“Agent Romanoff would like to request Bucky be given permission to—_ ”

“ _Yes, yes,_ ” video Tony interrupts. “ _Whatever Natasha says. I need to finish this and I can’t do it if she kills me._ ”

The screen clicks off, leaving them all in silence.

Bucky is the first one to speak, oddly serious when he says, “Lady Romanoff is not someone to be trifled with. I understand.”

Tony waves a hand at Bucky, cheeks pink. “Yes. What he said.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t know why you’re all so scared of her. She’s a marshmallow.”

“You only say that because you’re her favorite,” Steve grumbles, only a little upset. Sam and Natasha share a bond Steve will never understand, if only because he thinks it involves complaining about their dumbass reckless friends.

“Marshmallows can still kill you,” Tony says, wrapping his hands around his throat and fake-choking, making Sam laugh.

“C’mon,” Steve stands up, gathering his supplies and then reaching for Bucky’s hand, “let’s get out of here.”

“Bye, Steve!” Sam yells.

“Have fun with your boyfriend!” Tony tackles on.

Steve blushes from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, but doesn’t dignify them with a response. His blush only deepens when he sees the shy smile Bucky’s sporting as they get into the elevator, butterflies flipping in his stomach. The ride is silent back to Steve’s apartment, with Steve’s hand still firmly wrapped around Bucky’s wrist.

“Do you want some tea?” Steve asks once they’re inside and he’s put down his shield, carefully storing the oil jar in between his other supplies.

Steve finds that he just wants to do something nice for Bucky, since he knows Bucky won’t accept a thank you for the night they spent together, the way he held Steve until Steve went back to sleep. He also won’t accept a thank you for the gifts, especially considering they haven’t even acknowledged the fact that Bucky’s been leaving them around whenever he stops by.

The suspicion Steve had over the little trinkets is all gone. Now he looks forward to waking up and finding a surprise somewhere in his apartment, a small reminder that Bucky’s been there to see him.

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky answers, tucking one of his braids behind his ear. He’s been wearing them more often, sometimes with thin golden or silver strands threaded through his hair. His clothes have changed too, from armor to soft and rich fabrics in colors that capture Steve’s eyes, with detailed embroidery around the hem of his sleeves and and collar.

Bucky is _dressed up_ and Steve likes to think it’s all for him.

It is when Steve hands Bucky a mug, their fingers brushing together and making Bucky shiver, that Steve, in dawning horror, _realizes_ : he’s wearing shorts. _Holey shorts_.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asks, brows furrowed as he regards Steve. He takes a step forward, as if to help, but Steve waves him off.

The only way Bucky could help is by taking Steve out of his shorts, and now it is _not_ the time for that.

“I’ll be right back!” Steve promises, face hot with embarrassment.

He rushes to his room and kicks of his shorts, rummaging through his drawer in search of the skinny jeans that made Clint cry once. It takes a bit of wiggling around, tucking in his dick, and sucking in his tummy, but he successfully manages to slip into it. The tank he’s wearing is not a terrible one, but Steve still trades it for a black short-sleeved shirt that stretches tightly across his chest and shoulders.

He knows he’s got pecs and he’s not afraid to use them.

He’s just not exactly ready for the way Bucky smiles at him when he sees him, lips curling up in a slow smirk.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs from where he’s relocated to the living room and is sprawled on Steve’s couch. “You did not have to change clothes for me. You are always beautiful in my eyes.”

Steve flushes and squirms a little in place, not looking at Bucky when he flops down on the couch. Their sides brush together, the ever-present warmth from Bucky’s body a pleasant tingle against Steve’s skin. His own mug of tea is sitting on the coffee table, on top of a coaster, waiting for him.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve starts, not really knowing how to express his thanks for what Bucky did for him that night. “I…”

“I know,” Bucky says, pressing their legs together. His eyes are soft and bright, the smirk transformed into a smile. “Now teach me about your magic box.”

“Magic box?” Steve raises an eyebrow, and then laughs when Bucky points at the TV. “That’s called a TV,” Steve explains, going through how it works, answering Bucky’s questions, and introducing Bucky to Netflix. He queues up _Sleeping Beauty_ , glancing at Bucky with a sly smirk.

Bucky side-eyes Steve when the movie starts, taking a sip of his tea before he says, “Ask me your questions.”

“You know Sleeping Beauty, but you don’t know what a washing machine or a TV are?”

“The fairy tale is older than both,” Bucky answers, eyes glued to the TV as the opening scene starts to roll. “Despite who I am, I do not spend a considerable amount of time with or around humans. My home is the forest and my family is the Wild Hunt. As useful and entertaining as they can be, your inventions are not particularly needed, not for us.”

“Magic takes care of most of it?”

“The important things.” Bucky winks, and then goes back to the movie. “I like this, though. It is nice.”

Sitting here, next to Bucky, with a Disney movie on and sipping English Breakfast, all Steve can say is, “Yes. It is nice.”

 

**

 

The next day, tucked in Steve’s tea box, is a small pouch of sweet smelling leaves, tied together with a string. It is another one of Bucky’s gifts, left there without a word for Steve to enjoy.

Steve stares at it, heart full, and comes to a decision.

There is a reason why Bucky never personally hands Steve the gifts or says anything about them, Steve just doesn’t really know what it is.

He wonders if Bucky, in this time they’ve known each other, has somehow gotten a lock on how Steve feels about being given things. It is still a little difficult for him to accept kindness from others. Years ago, long before the serum, when all that made Steve Rogers was skin and bones and righteous anger, gifts felt more like charity than anything else.

It is different now, a little bit.

Steve knows Bucky’s surprises are anything but charity; they are boons. And Steve wants to reciprocate. He wants to share things with Bucky just as Bucky has been sharing things with him.

Still, as Bucky has so clearly demonstrated, there are rules to this exchange. Whatever gift Steve decides to give Bucky, it can’t be actually, well, _given_.

Steve scratches at his jaw, mind at work. He could always take a page out of Bucky’s book. In the way Bucky leaves gifts for Steve to enjoy, Steve could make sure to have something to share with Bucky whenever Bucky is around—something that goes past them watching Netflix together or reading books.

It is with that running through his head that Steve finds himself looking up recipes on how to make his own bread, rattling off ingredient requests to Jarvis. Steve has to admit that there’s something calming about kneading dough and baking; he’s using his hands to create something, much like he does when he’s knitting. Only this time, it’s for _Bucky_.

“Smells good,” Bucky says when he shows up, hair braided away from his face, curious gaze roaming over the mess in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Steve greets him, already past being startled whenever Bucky shows up. “I made a thing.”

“I can tell. It looks like Bobby ran through here, wrecking destruction.”

Steve snorts and washes his hands. “It should be done soon. Want to watch _Mulan_?”

Bucky’s eyes light up. “The warrior? Yes, please.”

They get halfway through the movie before the shrill sound of the timer rings through the apartment. Bucky tenses a little, hand going to the knife he keeps at his waist.

“It’s fine,” Steve assures him. “It’s just telling me the bread is ready.”

Bucky insists on following Steve to the kitchen, eyes scanning through the room, looking for threats. His alert expression gives way to a hungry one when Steve sets the bread on top of the counter, the scent permeating through the air.

Steve smiles a little to himself, grabbing plates, knives, butter, and the assortment of jams he got from Bruce. He makes Bucky help him bring it all back to the living room, pleased to see the way Bucky keeps licking his lips and eyeing the bread.

“Eat up,” Steve says once everything is ready, spreading some strawberry jam over his bread slice and taking a bite.

Bucky eagerly digs in, eyes fluttering shut and a moan escaping his mouth once he gets the first taste. Steve almost chokes on his food at the sound, feeling suddenly warm under his collar.

“‘S so good,” Bucky says, mouth full and cheeks puffing up.

“You like it?” Steve asks, a little breathless, nervous to hear Bucky’s answer.

It’s important to him that Bucky likes this gift, even though he doesn’t really know it _is_ a gift. This is just one little thing Steve wants to share with him, but hopefully it will open the door for more.

Bucky swallows and licks his lips, although a little bit of butter clings to the corner of his mouth. “I love it. This is amazing.”

Steve grins, entirely too pleased with himself.

_Mission successful_.

“Here.” Steve opens the peach jam. “Try it with this.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon eating and watching Netflix, their sides pressed together on the couch, keeping each other company. At one point Steve makes some tea and spreads the cloak over their legs, with Bucky clicking away at the remote and learning how to use Netflix for himself.

It’s a good afternoon, _domestic_ , and Steve doesn’t want it to end. Which is why it does.

“I have to go,” Bucky says when twilight comes, lips slightly turned down in reluctance.

“Do you, really?” Steve murmurs, not wanting him to leave but still not ready to ask him to stay.

Bucky nods and gets up from the couch, careful to tuck the cloak back around Steve’s legs, encasing him in warmth. “Today was a gift,” he says, eyes sparkling, like he knows all of Steve’s intentions.

Steve bites back a smile, but doesn’t stop himself from reaching out a hand and tugging at one of Bucky’s braids. “Want to take the rest of the bread with you?”

There isn’t much left, maybe two slices or three, but Steve wants Bucky to have it. It was meant for him, after all.

“Can I?”

Steve bundles up the remaining food and walks Bucky up to the roof. Starlight snorts when he sees them, and he lets Steve pet him, much to Steve’s delight.

“Have a safe ride,” Steve says, sliding his hands in his pockets so he won’t pull Bucky into a hug.

“I’m always safe with Starlight.” Bucky hesitates, then brings a hand up and touches Steve’s cheek. “I will be back soon.”

Steve leans into the warmth of Bucky’s fingers, his voice soft when he answers, “I’ll be waiting.”

With a final smile, Steve watches as Bucky rides off into the night.


	3. Bucky

“You better behave,” Bucky warns Bobby and then narrows his eyes when the hound just tilts its head at him. “I mean it. No more eating shoes. Steve will be upset.”

Bobby whines, as if the prospect of hurting Steve is the worst thing in the world. Bucky knows how he feels.

These past few weeks have been the best Bucky has ever experienced, and he has lived several lifetimes. Steve’s smile, his touches, his soul—they have all carved a place inside Bucky’s heart.

The night is cold as Bucky rides through it, the clouds parting for him and Starlight, Bobby at their heels. Yet it is not the chill wind that stings Bucky’s cheeks when the now familiar roof of Avengers Tower comes into sight.

Starlight neighs when he sees the shallow pond and green trees in one corner of the roof. It is like a tiny piece of the forest has grown there, just for them, welcoming and beautiful. Even Bobby is excited about the new addition. The iron that surrounds them feels less oppressive when they have this little piece of home right here with them.

Bucky leaves Starlight to munch on a carrot and stare at himself in the reflection of the pool. He heads inside with Bobby, sending a quick greeting to Jarvis.

“Captain Rogers is asleep,” Jarvis lets him know, “but I am sure he would welcome your presence.”

Bucky knows it is later than his usual visits, so it makes sense for him to catch Steve asleep. He does not wish to disturb him. As much as he values Steve’s company, Steve also deserves peaceful rest.

“Is anyone awake?” Bucky asks, one hand coming down to scratch Bobby between the ears.

This is as good time as any for Bucky to interact with Steve’s clan. He’s already won Thor and Lady Romanoff’s favor, not without a lot of effort on his part. Samuel has proven to be a challenge, but they have struck a tentative truce that hinges on antagonizing each other. That still leaves part of Steve’s family for him to get to know and win over.

“Sir is in the common room,” Jarvis replies, “and Agent Barton is currently trying to sneak into Agent Romanoff’s quarters.”

Bucky blinks, startled. “Does he wish death?”

“I am sure Agent Romanoff will not kill him.”

Bucky shakes his head. He knew the archer was brave, his soul told Bucky as much, but he didn’t know he was reckless, too. Maybe, if Lady Romanoff does kill him, Bucky will be able to pluck him for the Hunt.

“To the common rooms, then,” Bucky asks Jarvis and Bobby barks his agreement.

“My pleasure.”

“Jarvis?”

“Yes?”

“Who is responsible for the changes on the roof?”

It is a kindness he did not expect, but he is thankful all the same. Starlight has been very demanding as of late, not letting Bucky ride unless he pays the toll of one carrot and one additional juicy apple. It is extremely inconvenient.

“That would be Sir,” Jarvis answers, and Bucky could swear Jarvis sounds a bit amused, if robots were capable of that. “He said it needed a change to reflect the diverse population of the Tower.”

Bucky blinks in surprise, oddly touched. He doesn’t think himself deserving of such action, at least not at this time, as he is not close to Steve’s clan. Not just yet. The fact that one of them has deemed him important enough to extend him such consideration makes him wonder what Steve has been saying about him to his family.

Wonderful things, it seems.

With a skip in his step, Bucky enters the common room, finding just the man he wishes to see.

Tony blinks blearily up at him, hair in disarray, and then almost drops his mug when Bobby runs over to him, sniffing excitedly at Tony’s chest.

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s stop right there.” Tony pushes Bobby away, but not before Bucky sees him sneaking a pet to Bobby’s head. “This shirt is too expensive to be covered in hound slobber.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side. “It has a burn mark on the side. And oil stains all over the hem.”

“They’re fashionable,” Tony sniffs, and then points a finger at Bucky. “What are you doing here? It’s 3AM. Unless…” he perks up, wiggling his eyebrows. “Are you here for a booty call?”

Bucky doesn’t know what a booty call is, and he doesn’t really want to ask. “Why did you do it? The roof?”

Tony freezes with his mug halfway to his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all shifty eyes and squirming in place.

“The pond, the trees. Why did you do it?”

“Listen, buddy, I have never done a single thing in my entire life,” Tony argues, waving a hand around. “That’s just there. For reasons. That have nothing to do with you.”

Bucky amazes at how easy it is for humans to lie. They do it about the strangest things, too, twisting their words into untruth and spreading them around. Just as Tony is doing now.

“Of course,” Bucky plays along. “They just showed up. Like magic.”

“Don’t be silly.” Tony rolls his eyes. “A team of very dedicated people put that all together. Just, you know, not for you. Because I would never be dumb enough to outright gift the fae anything.”

Slowly, understanding dawns.

There are stories, as old as the world itself, about the expectations that come with giving the fae… well, _anything_. With gifts come debts, promises, _rules_. They form a connection between both parties—something most humans do not wish to have.

It seems like Tony knows of this and wants to avoid it. Bucky can respect it. If he’s being honest, he wants no connection to these people, no debts, not past what they mean to Steve.

“Starlight appreciates it,” Bucky offers. “He was getting bored out there.”

Tony shrugs, avoiding eye contact like he’s uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. Seriously. Don’t ever mention it again.”

Bucky nods, willing to keep Tony’s secret.

A series of small beeps breaks the silence between them. Tony stares down at his wrist and gulps down the rest of his coffee, already halfway to the elevator before he says, “See you later, Buckaroo!”

Bucky watches him go, and then glances down a Bobby, a small smile on his face. “Steve’s clan is weird.”

Bobby huffs and then goes back to exploring the room, stopping right under one of the vent opening and staring up at it. He goes still, gaze firmly locked above him. Bucky follows his line of sight, unable to keep a smile off his lips.

“Agent Barton,” Bucky calls out, “you may come down.”

There is a beat of silence before a muffled voice answers, “I’m okay, thanks.”

Bobby twitches, tail wagging, grey tongue lolling out of his mouth as he pants. Bucky can recognize the look.

“Bobby wants you to pet him, Agent,” Bucky says, and the words are barely out of his mouth before there’s some shuffling and the click of something opening.

Agent Barton is careful not to hit Bobby when he climbs down, landing smoothly on his feet. He drops down to the floor, arms opened and hands ready, a big smile stretching across his lips when Bobby rushes up to him.

“Aw, space dog,” Agent Barton says, laughing a little when Bobby licks his cheek. He doesn’t look up from the very important task of petting Bobby when he tells Bucky, “You can call me Clint. Agent Barton just makes me think I’m in trouble.”

“Clint,” Bucky repeats. “You’re the archer.”

“And you’re Steve’s.”

Those words send a rush of pleasure through Bucky. This casual acknowledgement of who he hopes to be, who he _wants_ to be, by one of Steve’s clan, make his heart clench in his chest. It means he is not the only one who sees himself that way.

“I hope to be,” Bucky admits, voice soft and a little shy.

Clint grins at him. “We know. It helps that he likes you.”

Bucky flushes a little, giddy at that confirmation. He knows Steve feels something for him—he’s heard it from Steve’s mouth at night, after Bucky helped him with his nightmares. And there is also the bread. Bucky knows exactly what Steve’s intentions were sharing that with him, and he can’t help the smile that blooms on his face whenever he thinks about it.

Steve _likes him_. As much as Bucky likes him back, it seems.

Bucky is willing to hear Clint’s take on it, but he is not willing to discuss this further. What lies between him and Steve should stay private, at least for now, while they are still tentatively figuring out what they mean to each other.

So Bucky changes the subject to something he’s been meaning to say since he first saw them fight, “You’d make a good Hunter.”

Clint’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He looks torn between pride and wariness. “You’re not going to pluck my soul, are you?”

“Not while you live,” Bucky promises, if only because that is not how it is done. He would very much like to have Clint with them after he dies, though.

Clint must sense that, because he is quick to add, “I belong with Nat. Where she goes, I go, and she is not going to the Wild Hunt.”

Bucky isn’t shocked to hear this, but he is a little sad. He understands Clint’s position, for his is the same: where Steve goes, he goes, and he hopes Steve goes to the Wild Hunt.

“I would not want to anger Lady Romanoff,” Bucky says as a way to reassure Clint. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Clint nods, then goes back to Bobby. The hound is lying on the floor, belly up and legs kicking, enjoying a tummy rub. “You can go up and see Steve,” Clint says. “I’ll take care of Bobby.”

“That’s kind of you,” Bucky says. He misses Steve.

“Can he eat pizza?” Clint asks.

“He can eat anything,” Bucky narrows his eyes at Bobby, “not that he should.”

“Got it.” Clint waves him away with a hand, the other petting Bobby. “We’ll be fine.”

With a final look at Bobby that threatens retribution if he behaves badly, Bucky heads up to Steve’s quarters. The apartment is dark as Bucky walks through it, feet barely touching the ground. He will not make any sounds to wake Steve up.

The sight that greets Bucky, when he steps into Steve’s room, is a familiar one. Steve is wrapped in the cloak, hands tucked under his cheek, bare feet peeking out from under his blankets. His mouth is open as he snores softly, blond hair a mess and sticking up everywhere.

Bucky wants nothing more than to lie down and curl up next to him.

As is, he sits down on the armchair in the corner of the room, right next to the window, and closes his eyes. He will just rest for a little while, in Steve’s sleeping presence, and leave. It is enough.

Or so Bucky tells himself.

 

**

 

Something hits Bucky in the face.

Bucky snarls and unsheaths his knife, ready to gut the one who dare attack him, blade slashing in front of him. Fabric rips and feathers explode through the air, light plumes flying over Bucky’s head and falling over his face. One tickles his nose, making him sneeze.

“Bucky.”

Bucky blinks, muscles tense and ready for battle. Only it is not an enemy who stands before him.

Steve’s bright blue eyes are wide and filled with guilt as he stares at Bucky, one hand clenched around his cloak while the other extends before him, palm up, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

“It’s me,” Steve says once Bucky focuses on him, feathers still floating around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown the pillow at you.”

Bucky shakes his head, letting himself relax and glancing around the room. A tattered pillow is on the floor at his feet, fallen victim to Bucky’s defensive outburst.

“I was asleep,” Bucky says, mostly to himself than to Steve. He did not mean to surrender himself to dreams. Yet it seems like Steve’s presence is so calming, that Bucky feels so safe around him, that his body gave in to rest.

“You were.” Steve fidgets with the cloak, both hands now curled on his lap. “I tried to call you, but you wouldn’t wake up, so I…”

“Hit me with a pillow,” Bucky finishes for him, still trying to get his bearings.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve rushes to say, lips turned down in misery.

“It’s… alright,” Bucky says slowly, putting away his knife. He runs a hand through his unbraided hair, a few feathers coming slipping through his fingers.

“Let me help,” Steve offers.

Bucky opens his mouth to say it isn’t needed, but completely forgets how to form words when Steve promptly kneels down in front of him and between his legs. Bucky’s breath stops in his lungs, and all he can do is stare down at Steve while Steve plucks feathers from his hair.

“Hello,” Bucky manages after a few seconds, although he sounds more breathless than he intended.

“Hi,” Steve says, just as soft, clever fingers sliding through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky shivers at the touch, his eyes falling closed, and he can’t help the shaky huff of breath that leaves his lips. As much as they casually touch each other, Bucky still isn’t used to it. It’s been centuries since he’s known touch as kind and as gentle as Steve’s.

“Okay?” Steve asks, wrist brushing against the shell of Bucky’s ear.

Bucky hums in acknowledgement and focuses on the tingling sensation in his scalp whenever Steve touches him. Bucky could fall asleep again, he realizes, just like this, with Steve carding his fingers through his hair.

Unfortunately, Steve pulls back a few seconds later and says, “I think I got everything.”

Bucky fights against letting out a disappointed sigh. When he opens his eyes again, Steve is staring right back at him, expression open and soft with fondness. It makes Bucky’s chest hurt, but it also sends a rush of affection through him, deep and warm.

“Did you sleep well?” Bucky asks, closing his legs and pressing his thighs to Steve’s side, keeping him in place. It feels good to have him there, _right_.

Steve nods and rests his hands over Bucky’s knees. “Did you?”

“Would have prefered a bed,” Bucky admits, and delights in the way Steve starts to blush, “but yes, it was fine.”

“Well, that’s good.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s knee, but whatever he is about to add to that is lost when his stomach rumbles. Loudly.

“Someone needs food,” Bucky notes, tentatively grabbing Steve’s hands in his and pulling him up when he stands.

There is a strange light in Steve’s eyes at the mention of food. It reminds Bucky of how Steve looked back when they first met: like he has a plan he needs to execute.

“Fae have glamour,” Steve says out of nowhere, head tilted to the side in question.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “We do. It is how the Hunt keeps hidden during battle, until it is time to strike.”

“Can you use it to make yourself look… more like me?”

“More human, do you mean?” Bucky clarifies, but doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer before he wraps his magic around himself.

Glamour is like a tickle over Bucky’s skin. It settles around him and hides his true nature, shaping and molding his body and looks to his specifications. It is one of the only ways fae can lie about themselves, and some hold on to it like a lifeline. Bucky, for his turn, has no desire to mask his true self. He is who he is, after trials and fights and pain, and he will not change it for the world.

For Steve, though, Bucky makes a tiny exception.

Bucky works the magic until his antlers appear to be gone. They are the only visible part of him that definitely look _other_ , although Bucky maintains that he is more attractive than the average human. Aside from Steve, of course.

Steve stares at him with his mouth opened in an awed look of surprise. He reaches out a hand and traces it over where Bucky’s antlers would be, grinning when it seems like he’s touching nothing but air.

“Nice. Can you glamour your clothes?”

Bucky considers his next words very carefully. “It is harder to maintain a glamour over such specific details.”

Which is true. Younger fae would struggle with it, but Bucky hasn’t been young in a very long time.

“You’ll borrow some of mine, then,” Steve decides, letting go of Bucky’s hands so he can go look through his closet.

 _Success_ , Bucky smiles to himself. He thought Steve would offer to share garments, and his stomach flips at the thought of being surrounded by Steve and his scent throughout the day.

Steve comes back with a pair of pants and a black shirt, handing them to Bucky, while he holds another change of clothes for himself. “You can use your own boots. They just look like fancy shoes instead of—”

“Fae.” Bucky starts taking off his armor, but not before he says, “Should I use my own underwear too?”

Steve does a full body twitch, pale skin turning pink. Instead of showing his embarrassment in any other way, he narrows his eyes at Bucky. “I could lend you my unicorn boxers, if you want. They have glitter on them.”

Bucky presses his lips together not to laugh. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Steve tells him when Bucky starts to pull his shirt up, his gaze everywhere but on Bucky.

“You don’t have to leave,” Bucky says, throwing his shirt over his breastplate on top of Steve’s armchair. He looks up at Steve from under his lashes, lips curled up in a smile at the way Steve’s eyes are now focused on his bare chest.

Bucky preens at the obvious attraction that flashes over Steve’s face, but is disappointed when Steve shakes his head and takes a step backward.

“I’ll wait for you in the living room,” Steve says, already with his back to Bucky.

Bucky sighs and hurries to change clothes. It is not fun to take his time anymore, not when Steve isn’t here to watch him. The pants feel a little weird against Bucky’s skin, the fabric kind of rough and constricting around his crotch, thighs, and ass. The shirt feels a thousand times better—soft and well-worn, with the sleeves clinging to Bucky’s arms and covered in Steve’s scent.

Bucky doesn’t resist. He brings the collar up to his nose and takes a deep breath, shivering slightly. He once again is faced with the urge to just roll around in Steve’s unique smell, but right now he’s going to have to settle for just this.

“You haven’t told me where we’re going,” Bucky says when steps into the living room, “or what we’re doing.”

Steve stops fidgeting with the pile of books on his coffee table and turns around, mouth dropping open at the sight of Bucky. Bucky puffs out his chest and smirks at Steve, making sure to flex his arm when he plucks a book from Steve’s hand and sets it down with the others.

“Well?” Bucky prompts, and his smirk widens when Steve gulps.

“Breakfast,” Steve blurts out, also wearing pants and a tight white shirt. “I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Bucky’s teasing mood is replaced by surprise, and then it transforms to delight at the prospect of another one of Steve’s gifts. He has no doubts that’s what this is: another boon Steve wants to share with him, in exchange for the ones Bucky gave him before.

“I’d love that,” Bucky admits, tone quiet. “I should probably check on Bobby first.”

“Bobby’s here?” Steve asks, looking around like he somehow missed the giant hound in his apartment.

“Not _here_.” Bucky waves him off. “Jarvis?”

“Clint and Bobby are currently out of commission,” Jarvis answers, and then Steve’s TV clicks on. On it is a clip of Clint and Bobby lying on the common room floor, cushions and blankets and empty pizza boxes surrounding them. They’re both asleep, Clint with his mouth open as he snores and Bobby with his head resting on top of Clint’s stomach. “I assure you they are fine.”

“They look it,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head. “How long have they been asleep?”

“About forty minutes. I estimate they will be down for another three hours, considering the amount of pizza consumed.”

“Sounds like Clint.” Steve scrubs a hand over his hair and bumps shoulders with Bucky. “Are you good to go?”

Bucky nods. “Where are you taking me?”

Steve grins, wicked and bright. “You’ll see.”

 

**

 

“What do you think?”

Bucky glances up at Steve before he goes back to smiling at Roosevelt, dutifully scratching under his chin when the cat places a paw on Bucky’s hand and lifts its head. “I love it,” he says, hiding back a wince when another cat digs its claws on his pant leg and climbs up his lap.

 _Catmosphere_ , the Cat Café, is unlike any place Bucky has ever been to—not that he has ever been to coffee shops in his life, yet he somehow thinks this one is better than others. Maybe because Steve looks so at ease here, surrounded by cats and trying to keep them from eating his sandwich.

“You know I used to be allergic to cats?” Steve tells him, and at the same time he lets Carter, one of the tabby cats, rub its head all over his cheek and neck. “To dogs too. And certain types of food.”

Bucky frowns, back tense as he now eyes every single cat rubbing against Steve as a threat. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” Steve waves a hand at him. “The serum took care of all my health problems.”

“Serum?”

“Oh.” Steve startles, blinking at Bucky like he can’t quite grasp something. He slowly shakes his head. “I guess you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

Steve gestures to his body. “How I became this.”

“You were not yourself, before?” Bucky’s frown deepens. It is hard for him to believe Steve was ever not himself, with a soul that shines as bright as the sun.

Steve dislodges the cats from his lap so he can come sit down next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky appreciates the closeness, and doesn’t hesitate to lean back against Steve’s side, their thighs pressed together. Steve doesn’t seem to mind either, and even bumps his knee against Bucky’s with a small smile.

Steve reaches into his pocket and brings out his phone. Bucky is still fascinated by the innovative technology humans have created, and this device happens to be one of his favorites. It can play music, show him pictures, and answer any question Bucky might have about anything in the world.

“Here.” Steve angles the screen to Bucky, showing him a picture of a skinny looking Steve Rogers, all sharp angles and barely concealed anger. “This was me before Project Rebirth, before the serum, before I ever was Captain America.”

Bucky gently touches the face on the screen. “How?”

In a low voice, Steve tells him the story of how he was made. The quiet Dr. Erskine who saw something in him that no one else did, the fierce Peggy Carter who stole his heart and taught him how to fight, the eccentric genius Howard Stark, Tony’s father, who helped create a machine that, along with Erskine’s work, gave men the power of supersoldiers.

“Or just me, really,” Steve says, a twist to his mouth that speaks of bitterness and sadness. “Dr. Erskine was killed before anything like that could happen. They wanted an army, but they only got me.”

“You are a true warrior,” Bucky says, resting his hand on Steve’s arm. “Anyone who’s seen you fight can attest that, with your skill, you are worth more than a dozen soldiers.”

Steve shrugs, eyes focused on the picture of who he used to be. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s all I’m good for: fighting.”

“It isn’t,” Bucky says with absolute certainty. “You are also good at baking bread.”

Steve lets out a surprised laugh, his sullen expression giving way to amusement. “I’m good at two things, then. Great.”

“You’re also a good friend,” Bucky adds. “Your clan would not want to keep you if you weren’t.”

Steve’s eyes soften, and he moves his arm so he can hold Bucky’s hand in his own. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head, skin tingling where he and Steve touch. “I don’t need your thank you when I only speak truth.”

“Don’t you speak truth all the time?” Steve teases.

Bucky blinks, putting on his best I-am-innocent-and-harmless face. “Fae can’t lie.”

Steve snorts and squeezes his hand once, before letting go and going back to pet the cats. Bucky feels a spark of jealousy for a second, wishing Steve was petting _him_ instead of the cats, but he knows they are not ready for that yet. Or at least, he isn’t. He’s still getting used to touch that feels good, that comes from a pace of kindness instead of violence.

“Steve,” Bucky pokes Steve’s thigh, marveling at the hard muscle, “sharing your story with me… I’m glad you trust me with that.”

“I trust you with a lot of things,” Steve admits, although he doesn’t glance up at Bucky.

Bucky swallows past a lump in his throat. He knows what this is, this quiet admission and sharing of stories—it is another one of Steve’s gifts to him. Steve has giving food and now he is giving part of himself to Bucky. The realization steals the breath from Bucky’s lungs, leaving him lightheaded with how much this means.

It is only fair Bucky does the same.

“I was human, once,” Bucky starts, drawing strength from the warmth of Steve’s body right beside him, “long ago. Before I was unmade and made into this, I was just like you.”

“What happened?” Steve asks, turning in his seat so he’s facing Bucky, one of his arms coming to rest behind Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky gives him a sad smile. “I died.”

Steve gasps, a sharp intake of breath that is too loud between the heaviness that surrounds them. “Bucky, I—”

“I died fighting,” Bucky interrupts him. His memories of that time are like a long lost dream, detached and vague. Bucky can’t muster up any feelings to come with the memories of him bleeding, fighting, _living_. That is not a part of him anymore, that kind of humanity. “It’s been too long now to remember what I was fighting for, but I died with a sword in my hand. I must have been impressive enough that, after I passed, Gwyn ap Nudd decided to keep me for the Wild Hunt.”

“He took your soul,” Steve whispers.

Bucky nods. “I guess I was a good one. They let me hunt with them, fight with them, until they deemed me ready to live again, but this time as a Hunter.” Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. This, as he tells Steve, he remembers: the transformation, with Gwyn ap Nudd breathing life into him again; the pain as his soul was unmade and his body made anew again; the overwhelming feeling of _life_ , but this time as someone stronger and faster than he ever was. “It was painful, becoming who I am today. Much like it happened to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, hand now resting on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not the same, but…”

“It’s similar. We were both made to fight, to be perfect warriors.”

“That’s not all of who you are,” Steve tells him, giving Bucky the same reassurance Bucky gave him a few minutes before.

“I know,” Bucky says, and then tries to lighten the mood, “I am also a wonderful singer.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, pulling Bucky closer to him in a side hug. “That I’ll have to see.”

Bucky smiles and goes back to petting cats, Steve’s arm still around him, but this time he does not do it in silence. He hums under his breath, quietly at first, and when he feels Steve’s eyes on him, he gives himself to song.

His voice is steady as he sings, the familiar rhythm of the lullaby taking him back to a time when he was less than what he is now. It is a soft tune, but Bucky knows the words are wrapped with longing, and he fights back emotion as he brings the song to a close.

Bucky doesn’t dare to look at Steve. Yet he feels the tight grip of Steve’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him in yet again, until Steve can rest his forehead against Bucky’s temple.

“You’re right,” Steve whispers. “That was beautiful.”

 

**

 

Bobby jumps on Steve as soon as they are back at the Tower.

“Hey, buddy.” Steve laughs and kneels down to pet him, giving him a good scratch behind the ears. “I heard you had a good time today.”

“He did,” Clint says through a yawn, and then turns to Bucky. “Thanks for letting me hang out with him.”

Bucky nods his thanks. “If you ever wish to spend more time with him…”

Clint perks up with excitement. “Yeah? I’d like that. Not today, though,” he says with a sigh. “I gotta go help Nat with her garden.”

Steve glances up from petting Bobby, eyebrow raised. “That’s not an euphemism, is it?”

Clint’s shoulders slump. “I wish.”

Bucky and Steve say goodbye to Clint, with Bobby separating himself from Steve for a second to go lick at Clint’s hand. As soon as Clint leaves, Bobby is back by Steve’s side, tail wagging and—

Bucky freezes in place.

“Oh, what do you have there, buddy?” Steve asks and opens his palms in front of Bobby’s muzzle, letting the hound drop the golden wishbone he’d been carrying around fuck knows where right on Steve’s hands. “Oh! That’s… Thanks.”

Dread slithers up Bucky’s spine, meeting the anger that quickly rises up from his stomach and swallows his heart.

Golden wishbones are not just a gift. They are warning of intent. Hounds present their chosen companions with it once they desire to claim them for the duration of their lifetimes. A bond is shared, between a hound and its master, that lasts far beyond death.

And now Bobby _dares_ to try and claim Steve when he _knows_ how Bucky feels about him, when he _knows_ Bucky wants to do that _first_.

Oh, but that will not stand.

Bucky narrows his eyes at Bobby, meeting the hound’s gaze.

It is _on_.

 

**

 

Bucky gently runs his fingers through the smooth leather of the armored boots he has fashioned with his own hands, along with a little bit of sweat and a lot of spite. They are to be a gift for Steve, the first one ever handed to him by Bucky himself. It is a piece that offers protection while still recognizing Steve’s need to fight.

Bucky really hopes he likes it.

Or at least likes it better than _Bobby’s_ gift.

Bucky takes a deep breath to steady himself. His palms are sweaty, something he hasn’t experienced since he was made leader of the Hunt, and there is an unpleasant heaviness in his stomach.

He hates to admit it, but he’s nervous.

This means something more than what he and Steve have shared so far. There is an added weight to the exchange made in person, certain expectations to be met, that he and Steve haven’t had to deal with so far. Not when Bucky merely left surprises for him to find.

Bucky clutches the boots to his chest and goes to meet his warrior.

 

**

 

The roof has changed once again. Now, in addition to the trees and the pond, there is a small wooden bench nestled in between two tall trees, with green vines curling around its feet.

Steve sits on that bench, a notebook on his lap and pencil in hand, his brows furrowed in concentration. He doesn’t even look up when Bucky and Starlight land, so focused he is on what he’s doing.

Bucky’s heart speeds up a little, not knowing whether he loves or hates that Steve still hasn’t seen him arrive.

Starlight nudges him on the back when Bucky dismounts, glowing eyes flashing with as much encouragement as a horse can muster. It turns out to be quite a lot, so Bucky kisses Starlight between his eyes, gives him a carrot, and goes to face his fate.

“Steve?” Bucky calls as he gets closer to the bench, boots hidden behind his back. He will not ruin this surprise.

“Hm?” Steve hums, but he doesn’t look up from his notebook.

Bucky goes on his tiptoes and stares down at the book on Steve’s lap, curiosity getting the better of him. He must know what it is that takes Steve’s attention so completely, so much so that he doesn’t even glance up at Bucky when addressed.

The pages are a jumble of black lines that, to Bucky’s eyes, soon take shape. Bucky can recognize the scenery around them—the trees and pond and flowers that have sprung up here and there.

Bucky holds back a gasp at the same time that pride sparks through him.

His warrior is an _artist_. An extremely talented one at that.

Something Bucky can attest to not only because of the perfect rendition of trees to a page, but also because, amongst those trees, two figures stand.

Bucky would know Steve anywhere, even just as lines and curves on a paper. What surprises him is the figure that stands beside Steve on the drawing. The antlers are what reveals this creature’s true identity.

Bucky’s breath lodges in his throat as he stares at himself on Steve’s drawing. Steve’s depiction of him is unlike anything Bucky’s ever seen before: soft lines and light shadows, eyes deep with emotion, a small and gentle smile curled on his lips.

Bucky looks _beautiful_ when he sees himself through Steve’s eyes.

“Steve.” Bucky drops to his knees in front of him, one hand coming to rest on Steve’s bent knee to catch his attention.

Steve does a double-take and almost drops his pencil when he lets out a yelp of surprise. He snaps the notebook shut and clutches it to his chest, his cheeks turning red in a blush that travels down to his neck and chest.

“Bucky, hi.”

With Steve’s focus now on him and the knowledge of how Steve sees him, Bucky finds that all confidence and tenderness he felt just a few seconds before vanishes. As Steve’s blue eyes meet his, Bucky, for the first time in many centuries, _panics_.

“Here.” Bucky drops the boots on top of Steve’s lap without any sort of finesse and quickly stands up. “These are for you.”

“Wha—” Steve stares down at the boots with wide eyes, his obvious confusion apparent in the downturn twist of his lips.

Bucky can’t deal with this.

He’s faced armies and fae and Odin’s drunken punches once, but he cannot face Steve’s reaction to his gift.

“I’ll be going now,” Bucky says, already halfway to Starlight. “Goodbye.”

Without another word, and without looking back at Steve to see if he liked or rejected the gift, Bucky climbs onto Starlight and rides away.

 

**

 

“I know that was terrible,” Bucky groans once Starlight promptly dumps him in a lake near home. He wipes water away from his face and grimaces at the heaviness of his soaked clothes.

It’s what he deserves, really, for being such a fucking fool.

Starlight snorts, almost as if to say, _I was there. It was worse than terrible._

“I’ll do better next time,” Bucky vows to himself.

Starlight side-eyes him.

Bucky flicks some water at him and doesn’t even try to defend himself when Starlight pushes him back into the lake.

 

**

 

Bucky doesn’t do better, the next time.

He doesn’t do as _terrible_ as he did with the boots, but it still not a mission Bucky would label as _smooth_ and _successful_.

Bucky fiddles with the lid of the small ink jar he’s holding, fingers tracing the embellishes carved into the metal. Now that he knows his Steve is an artist, Bucky wishes to show him support, and what better way to do that than gift him with art supplies?

The arts are revered amongst the fae. It is not just anyone who can create beauty with the their fingertips, with their voice. It is always easier to destroy than to create, so to hand-fashion something that truly captures the world that surrounds them is priceless. Especially when the world so changes around the fae, century after century.

Steve should know Bucky loves his art.

“Captain Rogers is in the training room,” Jarvis informs him. “I am sure he will appreciate your presence there.”

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip to try and settle his nerves, but all it does is hurt. “If you could give me directions, please.”

Bucky’s heart clenches painfully in his chest as he goes in search of Steve. His hands are sweaty around the ink jar, a new sensation Bucky is not really a fan of. He much rather liked back when he didn’t feel so… _human_. But he guesses that this is what losing his heart to Steve is like.

Bucky pushes open the doors to the training room, only to freeze in place. His stomach swoops when he sees Steve, in all his sweaty and bare-chested glory, wearing only a flimsy pair of shorts and boxing tape around his hands, punching away at a punching bag.

Steve is _beautiful_ and Bucky kind of wants to punch _himself_ in the face.

The strangled sound that escapes his mouth is enough to catch Steve’s attention, who twirls around on bare feet to face Bucky. The stormy expression on his face gives way to happiness, as a smile breaks across his features.

“Bucky!” Steve rushes to him, shiny pecs bouncing with each hurried step.

Bucky has lived through countless wars, but he is not going to live through this.

And that is why Bucky extends his arm and pushes the ink jar to Steve’s chest, a shivering running through his entire body when his fingers brush against the sweaty skin of Steve’s chest.

“For you,” Bucky says, voice breaking at the last tone.

He lets go of the jar and Steve fumbles to catch it, and Bucky has a second to panic about the jar falling and spilling ink all over themselves and the floor. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, Steve holds it close to his impressive chest, his happy smile turning into a pleased one at receiving another gift.

Bucky has one second to feel proud of himself before Steve takes another step forward, arms open as if he is going in for a hug. The thought of being pressed to Steve’s sweaty pecs sends a rush of heat and and fear so strong through Bucky’s body that he takes a step backwards.

“I must leave,” Bucky chokes out, barely registering the disappointment and suspicion in Steve’s eyes before he steps back and turns to leave.

When the door closes, it hits him right on the butt.

 

**

 

Bucky must redeem himself.

The mocking stares Starlight gives him every time they ride together only add to Bucky’s shame. He is better than this, he knows. He’s had no problems leaving Steve gifts before, so he doesn’t understand why panic threatens to choke him now, whenever he tries to give Steve something.

Well, okay. Bucky _does_ understand. It just doesn’t mean he likes it.

The weight attached to these gifts is greater than it once was. If Steve rejects them, this time, Bucky’s heart will break.

Bucky’s own cowardice at this situation leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. He should be able to deal with this with courage in his heart and the certainty that Steve likes him.

Bucky needs to do better.

Even if Bobby went ahead of him and tried to claim Steve for himself first.

With that in mind, Bucky starts working on his new gift. His movements are awkward and clumsy at first, unaccustomed to the pull and thread of tapestry work. He pours a little bit of his magic to help him along, braiding and shifting and redoing the bits that are not as he likes, slowly creating an image plucked right out of his memories with Steve.

It takes him weeks to finish the tapestry to his expectations. Weeks in which he does not visit Steve. He feels Steve’s absence like a harsh and sharp knife stuck in his chest, that twists around whenever Bucky thinks of him.

But he must do this. He must show Steve how much he cares, once and for all.

So Bucky works and works and works until his fingers are raw and his eyes can’t distinguish stitches anymore. When he first hangs the tapestry on his tent, eyes taking in the extent of his work for the first time, Bucky almost cries.

If Steve rejects this gift, Bucky will surrender to defeat and leave his life. Forever.

Bucky carefully folds the tapestry and slides it inside his saddlebag. Starlight bumps him on the side and gives him an unimpressed look, right before he snaps his teeth at Bucky.

“This will be the last time,” Bucky says past a lump in his throat, giving Starlight his carrot. “If Steve decides he doesn’t want me, I’ll go.”

Starlight neighs and bumps Bucky again, his silent way of showing support. Bucky pets him once and then mounts. His hands shake the whole way to the Tower. And he is so distracted that, as he rides, he does not notice the hound following behind him.

 

**

 

Bucky meets Steve at his apartment.

The hallways are familiar to him as he walks, bag in hand, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He stops by one of the floor to ceiling windows on the way, checking out his reflection.

His hair is braided back with silver threads woven through it, highlighting the shine of his brown strands. He has on one of his best form-fitting coats over a plain black shirt, formerly Steve’s, with no armor on, and the deep blue fabric falls to his knees and is tight at his waist and shoulders. The silvery details embroidered around the collar and sleeves lend a certain softness to the look, which is paired with his usual armored boots and the pair of pants he also stole from Steve when they went to the cat café. Bucky even went as far as lining some kohl under his eyes and press berries to his lips, all to bring attention to his face.

“Ride forth,” Bucky murmurs to himself, the last bit of courage he needs to knock on Steve’s door.

Steve doesn’t greet him with a smile.

Bucky’s stomach plummets when all he can see on Steve’s face is a wary kind of resignation, his lips pressed in a thin line and eyes guarded. He still lets Bucky inside, stepping aside and softly closing the door behind them.

Before Bucky can open his mouth to say something, Steve raises a hand to stop him.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me,” Steve says, throat working as he swallows. “ _Really_ honest. Not fae honest, where you decide to only tell me half the truth.”

Bucky doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods. He holds on tight to his bag, knuckles white, pulling it onto his lap when Steve gestures for him to sit down. Bucky’s heart skips a beat when he sees the cloak draped over the back of the couch, as well as the feather poking out from between one of Steve’s books.

A little spark of hope ignites inside Bucky’s chest. Maybe things will be alright, after all.

Steve sighs and sits down on the coffee table, directly in front of Bucky. Their knees almost touch, and the height different makes it so Bucky is glancing down at Steve instead of them being on the same level.

When Steve asks his question, Bucky almost slides off the couch.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“ _What_?” Bucky rushes with shaky words, dread curling in his stomach.

Steve’s jaw clenches and he ducks his head, avoiding eye contact. “You stopped coming by. If I did something wrong, I just… I wanted a chance to apologize.”

“You did _nothing_ wrong,” Bucky says, tone leaving no room for argument. He reaches down and grasps Steve’s hand in his, linking their fingers together. “I stopped coming by because I was busy, not because I did not wish to see you again. I missed you and I fought with myself for not being able to come see you.”

Steve stares up at him, eyes bright and mouth slack. “You missed me?” he whispers, lips curling up at the corners in a pleased smile.

Bucky nods, and it takes him nothing to admit that, “Yes, I missed you. Every day.”

“Then why did you leave?”

Bucky focuses on the feeling of Steve’s hand against his own, using the warmth of his warrior to center himself. “There was something I had to do,” he says, and then reveals his secret, “a gift, for you.”

Steve’s surprise on itself is a gift in this moment. His eyes widen and he loses his smile, only for it to reappear a second later. There is a tender softness to his face that makes him look younger, a spark beneath his eyes that sets fire to Bucky’s heart.

“A gift,” Steve repeats, and Bucky knows they both recognize the significance of finally admitting that aloud.

“Yes.” Bucky smiles, even as his heart threatens to burst through his chest. “Would you like to see it?”

“Please,” Steve says, nodding along.

Bucky loathes to let go of Steve’s hand, but he needs to for this. He also stands up, but waves Steve off when he tries to do the same.

The bag is set at Bucky’s feet in living room floor. With a flick of his hand and a little magic to boost him, Bucky grabs the tapestry and unfolds it, showing off his work to Steve.

Steve gasps, hand coming up to cover his mouth. There is no mistaking the Avengers team sitting around the dinner table at the common room. Steve’s family, his clan, sharing food and laughing and spending time together.

Bucky painstakingly tried to capture everyone’s likeness: Sam’s unmoving strength, Tony’s eccentric energy, Natasha’s odd humor, Clint’s soft heart, Bruce’s quiet intelligence, and Thor’s booming love for all of them. And right in the center is Steve, sunshine heart and warrior’s soul.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says with a trembling voice, unsteady hand lifting up to touch the tips of his fingers against his own face. “Did you… Did you _make_ this?”

Bucky nods, trying to push down his nerves in the face of Steve’s obvious shock. “That’s why I didn’t visit. I…” he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, sharing with Steve yet another one of his secrets, “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Those words must mean something to Steve, because his expressions shifts to something deep and fond. At the same time, there seems to be a flash of understanding in his eyes, which makes him stands up and reaches for Bucky.

Bucky lets himself be tugged into a hug, entire body vibrating at the amount of contact. His and Steve’s bodies touch from knees to cheeks, with Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist and his nose tucked into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“I _love it_ ,” Steve murmurs, breath ghosting against Bucky’s skin.

Bucky stands in the cradle of Steve’s arms and shivers, breath coming out in harsh pants as he tries to process this kind of touch. It is _too much_ , yet somehow not enough.

Steve must understand what he feels, because he doesn’t linger. A few seconds later and he’s taking a step backwards, hands falling from Bucky’s sides. The smile he gives Bucky is the best of all: small and shy, but still showing a bright kind of happiness that steals Bucky’s breath away.

“I need to put this up,” Steve tells him as he gestures to the tapestry. “And you’re gonna help me.”

Bucky, still unable to find his voice, just nods, ready to do whatever Steve wishes him to. “Where do you…?” he clears his throat, hating only a little bit when his voice breaks.

“Here in the living room.” Steve twirls around, eyes scanning the room for the best spot. “I want everyone to see it when they come in.”

Bucky fights back a shout of victory. Steve _loves_ his gift, so much so he wants to hang it in a prominent place in his own home, for all to see.

It is true that Bucky is preening while Steve directs him to several places around the room, trying to figure out what the best place to hang the tapestry is. Bucky doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. He is proud of his work and Steve’s love for it, as well as all that Steve’s acceptance means.

Steve decides to hang the tapestry above his TV, with the excuse that it will be one of the first things people will see it when they enter the living room.

“It also means I get to stare at it whenever I sit on the couch,” Steve says with a grin. He crawls behind the TV and pushes it away from the wall, careful with all the wires attached to it.

They grab a chair and tools before they start, and soon enough Bucky gets to watch Steve work while trying not to swallow his own tongue. Steve’s muscles ripple with every move of his body, the tight grey shirt he’s wearing riding up whenever he raises his arms.

Bucky really, _really_ wants to put his mouth on him. But they have important things to do, so Bucky focuses on holding the chair still and handing Steve whatever tools he might need.

The tapestry looks beautiful when Steve finally hangs it, the colors somehow matching perfectly to the overall cozy feeling of Steve’s apartment. Steve grins up at him, his hands at his waist, like it is the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Looks great, don’t you think?” Steve asks him.

“Yes,” Bucky answers softly, although his focus is on Steve instead of the wall. “Yes, it does.”

Steve turns to him, grin slipping into a small smile. He just stares at Bucky for a few seconds, eyes liquid, before he says, “The gifts mean something.”

Bucky swallows hard, but all he has are truths for Steve today. “The gifts mean everything.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and then he nods. A warm kind of understanding falls over them, rich with promise and expectations.

“Well,” Steve starts, “then come on. I knit you a sweater. We have to see if it fits.”

A grin slowly stretches across Bucky’s face, big and bright. “You made me a sweater?”

Steve’s cheeks have a rosy tint to them now, flushed with happiness. “Yeah. I just don’t know how we’ll get it past your antlers.”

A second later and Bucky’s antlers are glamoured away. Steve laughs when Bucky does it, grabbing his hand and leading him to what he calls his studio. There are more books piled around, but Bucky’s eyes catch on the easels, paint, and brushes everywhere. This is where Steve makes his art.

“Gimme a sec.” Steve lets go of Bucky to go rummage between the small closet tucked near the window, his ass high up in the air.

Bucky tries his best not to stare at it.

He fails.

A _lot_.

“Got it!” Steve turns back to Bucky, a grey-knit sweater in his hands. He unfolds it and shyly presents it to Bucky, an expectant smile on his face.

Bucky takes it and marvels at the softness of the wool against his skin. He is quick to take off his coat and slip the sweater on over his shirt, which fits perfectly against his body. Even the sleeves fall a little past his wrist, making it so he feels like he’s wrapped in a cosy Steve-like cloud.

“How do I look?” Bucky asks, smoothing the wool down over his chest.

“Beautiful,” Steve replies with a shrug and a cheeky smile. Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes rake over his body, taking in his clothes. Steve blinks, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “Are those my jeans?”

Bucky worries at his bottom lip and stares up at Steve from under his lashes, trying to look innocent. “It is possible.”

Steve snorts and shakes his head. “Would that be my black shirt too?”

“Could be.” Bucky fingers the hem of his new sweater, loving how warm it makes him feel. “This is wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Bucky glances up at Steve, heart twisting at the tender look on his face. It makes Bucky want to pull him in, to press his body close to Steve’s again, to taste the curve of his mouth.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Bucky ducks his head and lightly presses his forehead to Steve’s chest, breathing in the smell of him before he whispers two words most feared to the fae, “Thank you.”

A rush of magic goes through Bucky, tipping the scales in Steve’s favor. A thank you is a small debt, tying one person to another, and now Bucky is the one who owes Steve something. Their deal was made to be mostly in Bucky’s favor, but with these two little words, Steve is now the one with the upper hand.

Bucky feels the rise and fall of Steve’s chest as he takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t let himself have more than these few precious seconds. He straightens up and moves back, throat constricting when he sees Steve’s hands hovering by his sides, as if he was going to pull Bucky into another hug.

“Bucky,” Steve says, taking a tentative step forward. Whatever words he has for Bucky get lost in the sudden sound of a loud bark coming from the living room.

They both startle, but Bucky is quicker to recover when bright hot anger courses through him. He _knows_ that bark, has lived with it for decades, and right now he really wishes he’d left Bobby back in the Underworld where he fucking belonged.

“ _You_ ,” Bucky hisses when he gets to the living room, watching as Bobby makes himself at home in Steve’s couch.

Bobby sniffs and looks away from him, focusing instead on Steve. He barks again, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he pants.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve says, eyes going from Bucky to Bobby and back again.

Bucky bares his teeth at the hound, a low growling sound coming from deep within his chest. Bobby answers in kind, sharp fangs threatening when he aims them at Bucky.

“Woah, hey, hey, none of that.” Steve steps between them, hands up in front of him in a calming gesture.

Bucky swallows back another growl at Steve’s request, but his fingers are itching to flick Bobby on the forehead.

“What’s going— oh.” Steve stops, suddenly. His eyes are focused on the tapestry, and then they slowly come back around to Bobby before moving to Bucky. “ _Oh_. I see.”

Bucky and Bobby glare at each other before looking back at Steve. Steve, upon seeing they are not going to start attacking each other, lowers his hands.

“I’m going to go over there,” Steve points to one of his bookshelves, “and then I’m going to come back. I want you both to know that I’m going to be _very upset_ if you start fighting in my living room.”

Bucky shifts in place while Bobby whines. Upsetting Steve is the last thing either of them wants to do.

They follow Steve with their eyes when Steve goes over to the shelf, grabbing something from between two books before coming back. He carefully lays the golden wishbone Bobby gifted to him on top of the coffee table.

Bucky can’t help it. He starts growling again at the sight of the wishbone, at the _slight_ it means against his person.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve chastises him, and his lips twitch into a smile when Bucky abruptly stops making any sound. “Trust me.”

Bucky lets out a deep breath. Trust Steve. He can do that. He’s been doing that for months now, and Steve has never given him any indication that he shouldn’t.

He still tenses a little when Steve gives his back to him, cold slithering up his spine. He holds on to the trust he has in Steve and hopes everything will be okay.

“Bobby,” Steve crouches in front of the hound, scratching him under his chin before continuing, “I appreciate your gift.”

Bobby licks at Steve’s hand, and Bucky counts to twenty so as not to commit murder. Not that he needs to. Steve’s next words surely stop any kind of ill feelings he has for Bobby right in their tracks.

“But I can’t accept it,” Steve adds. He picks up the wishbone and offers it back to Bobby.

Bobby whines, a mournful sound deep from his soul. His nudges Steve’s fingers with a cold nose, as if trying to close Steve’s hand around the wishbone.

“No.” Steve rests a hand on top of Bobby’s head. “I can’t keep it. It would be wrong of me.”

Bobby tilts his head in silent question, and Bucky? Bucky holds his breath.

Time stands still as he waits for Steve to answer, to give Bobby a reason, to change their lives.

Steve does not disappoint.

“Why? Well,” Steve glances at Bucky from over his shoulder, pink lips soft and eyes bright, “I already belong to someone else.”

Bucky’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with love and happiness. It takes all of his strength not to rush to Steve and gather him in his arms. This is still not finished, and he will not interrupt the moment by giving himself to the delight he’s feeling. At least not yet.

Bobby whimpers again, but with Steve’s urging he takes the wishbone back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve tells him, rubbing a hand up and down his coat. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else. Someone right for you.”

Bobby snorts and bumps Steve with his head, before climbing off the couch and trotting up to Bucky. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Bucky kneels and pulls Bobby to him.

“Fool,” Bucky murmurs, and laughs a little when Bobby nips at his jaw. “You know what you did, but Steve is right. You will find a companion soon.”

“Clint loves you,” Steve offers, and only looks half apologetic when Bobby perks up, ears twitching.

“It is Lady Romanoff’s heart you will have to win if you wish to have Clint as your master,” Bucky warns him. “Be careful. She is unlike most humans.”

Bobby barks his ascent and wastes no time to go in search for Clint, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in Steve’s apartment.

It is Bucky who takes the first step, letting his happiness show through in a smile as he takes Steve’s hand in his own.

“You belong to someone else, huh?”

Steve shrugs, but his eyes sparkle when he looks up at Bucky, shy and yet just as happy as Bucky is. “I belong to myself,” he says, and then squeezes Bucky’s hands. “And maybe you. If you play your cards right.”

Bucky laughs, loud and free, and vows to himself to do exactly that.


	4. Steve

“The gifts mean something!” Steve announces as he steps into the common room for dinner, a wide smile on his face.

He and Bucky spent the afternoon together yesterday after Bobby left, doing nothing more than holding hands and going through a couple of Disney movies. It was _so nice_ to have that time with Bucky after they both realized what they mean to each other.

“Did you only figure this out now?” Bruce says dryly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Tony throws an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “He’s not as smart as we are.”

“Yes, he is.” Sam defends him, if only so he can add, “But he’s oblivious as shit too.”

Natasha raises her glass in agreement, although she is quick to bring the subject back around. “So you found out the gifts mean something.”

“Yes. Which means I gotta do something for Bucky.”

“Isn’t that what all the baking and knitting’s been for?” Clint asks as he arrives with the food, bags upon bags of takeout in his arms.

“Yes, but this is _different_ ,” Steve insists, grabbing his pad thai and spring rolls before Nat has a chance to swipe them. “You guys saw the tapestry.”

They all nod as they divide the food, the room going quiet for a second. It is a gift that touched not only Steve but the Avengers too, to have Bucky make something represents who they all are to each other: family.

“You could do something like it,” Bruce suggests. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times before he perks up, an idea forming in his head. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“There you go.” Sam clasps him on the shoulder. “Show your boy how talented you are.”

“First with your art,” Nat says with a smirk, “then with your co—”

“Here’s your soup!” Steve interrupts her and sets her order down in front of her. “Don’t want it to get cold.”

Nat blows him a kiss, and Steve isn’t above sticking his tongue out at her.

“You better save that for Buck-buck,” Tony pipes up, hip-checking Steve so he can get to his own food.

“I hate you all,” Steve tells them. “You are terrible friends. Except for Thor.”

“You only say that because he’s not here to make fun of you,” Sam points out.

“And he _would_ make fun of you,” Bruce adds with a small and teasing smile.

Steve sighs, because it’s not like they’re lying. Although, to be fair, this kind of well-intentioned ribbing is something they all do to each other, all the time, as a way to show they care.

“Let’s just eat,” Steve says, plopping down on his usual place on the couch. “What movie are we watching?”

That sparks an entire new kind of discussion, and Steve is grateful for the few minutes of peace he gets. He needs to think about what to give Bucky. Something that will mean as much to him as the tapestry did to Steve.

 

**

 

Steve paints.

Soft strokes of a brush against a blank canvas, colors and lines and shadows, all taking shape and transforming into one of Steve’s memories. Dreams made flesh.

He pours his heart into it, emotion bleeding into every detail he adds to the painting. He wants Bucky to know how much all of this means to Steve, the same way he did with the tapestry. There isn’t much Steve can share with Bucky that is entirely _his_ , but his art is certainly the most important, the most personal.

So Steve paints, and he really hopes Bucky likes it.

 

**

 

“Hello, Steve.”

Steve looks up from his spot on the bench, heart fluttering at the sigh of Bucky dismounting Starlight, his hair braided away from his face. He’s wearing the sweater Steve knit for him, cozy-like and warm, and Steve kind of wants to hug him.

The roof’s tiny little forest has become one of Steve’s favorite places at the Tower. It’s quiet and relaxing, giving him a view of the city, but still with the comfort of nature. As it was made for Bucky and his horse, it makes sense for Steve to do this here.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve flashes him a quick smile, hands clammy with sweat. “Sit with me?”

Bucky does, right up beside Steve, their sides flush together.

This is another thing Steve has noticed: how much Bucky craves touch. It is in the very way he seeks Steve’s warmth, the way he shivers under Steve’s hand, how he always leans into it, wanting more.

Steve is happy to give him as much human contact as he wants. Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to throw an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pull him close. He’s rewarded by a soft sigh that escapes Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s tense muscles relaxing into his side.

“How was your day?” Steve asks. He’s interested, but he’s also trying to buy himself a little time.

“It was good,” Bucky answers. The way they’re sitting means Bucky’s antlers brush against the strands of Steve’s hair, tickling him a little. “I made myself a new hunting bow. And Bobby stole one of the steeds’ food and got chased around until he had to jump into the lake.”

“Is Bobby okay?” Steve still feels a little guilty about how things went down, but he knows the only one he wants to belong to is Bucky.

“He’s devising a plan,” Bucky says with a smirk, “to win over Lady Romanoff. Apparently Clint made an impression with the pizza.”

“Clint would love a space dog.”

“Hunt hound,” Bucky corrects him, poking him lightly in the stomach.

“Right, yes, my mistake.”

“How was your day?” Bucky asks him, cuddling him up a little closer.

Steve swallows back nerves. His day revolved mostly around putting the finishing touches on Bucky’s gift, and then freaking out about it being good enough. If not for Bruce throwing a sock at him and telling him to calm down, Steve might have called this whole thing off.

“I got to throw things at Sam during training today,” Steve says, and then laughs at the way Bucky lights up.

“Really?”

Steve laughs a little, charmed at the glee in Bucky’s eyes. “Really. We were testing his new wings. We had to know if he could change course fast enough.”

“Did you hit him?”

Steve is only a little guilty when he says, “A handful of times.”

Bucky pats Steve’s chest, looking as proud as if he had hit Sam himself. “A true warrior.”

Steve catches Bucky’s hand in his own, trapping it against his chest. “I try my best.”

They stay silent for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s company. Steve traces his fingers over Bucky’s knuckles and the back of his hand, liking the way Bucky’s palm feels right over his heart. Starlight stands a ways of them, drinking from the pond before trotting through the trees.

“I like this,” Bucky murmurs, fingers digging a little into Steve’s skin.

“Me too.” Steve takes a deep breath, and he’s sure Bucky can feel the way his heart speeds up in his chest. This seems like the perfect moment to do it: just the two of them, here, surrounded by peace and nature. “Hey, Buck, I have something for you.”

Bucky pulls back a little, eyes shining when he asks, “A gift?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes out, fingers itching to grab the painting that he’s hidden under the bench. “A gift.”

Bucky pulls back entirely from him, and Steve tries to hide a little sound of disappointment. That’s totally forgotten in favor of amusement and fondness when Bucky makes grabby hands at him, pink lips stretched in a wide smile.

“Can I have it, please?”

Steve bites down on his lip so he won’t lean in and kiss Bucky’s cute little nose. Instead, he nods and bends over, reaching under the bench and grabbing what he needs.

Bucky’s head tilts to the side at the unraveled gift and then gently takes it from Steve’s hands. He’s careful as he removes the paper that covers it, and as the gift is bare, Bucky’s entire body goes still.

Steve watches him nervously as Bucky takes in the painting, heart in his throat. He’s tried his best to capture Bucky’s strength and Starlight’s ethereal glow, as well as the magic that surrounds them.

In the painting, Bucky and Starlight are right here, in this tiny piece of paradise that’s been carved on the roof, standing in front of each other. Their heads are bent, with one of Bucky’s hands resting lightly over Starlight’s neck, as if halfway through a pet. Their foreheads rest together, two warriors, two _friends_ , sharing a moment of quiet and peace.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, eyes slowly going over the panting, as if wanting to catch every single detail Steve’s put in.

“You gave me my family,” Steve tells him, referring to Bucky’s last gift. “I don’t really know your clan, but I know you and Starlight share a bond. I wanted to give you a little bit of that too.”

Bucky takes in a shaky breath and lowers the painting to his lap, and then lets out a sharp whistle. Starlight bursts through the trees and slowly makes his way to Bucky.

“Steve has given us something,” Bucky says, voice thick and a little wobbly. It goes straight to Steve’s heart, and he doesn’t hesitate to lay a hand in the middle of Bucky’s back for comfort.

Starlight snorts, glowing eyes seeming to focus on the painting. He stares at it for a second, tail swishing, before he bounds over to Steve and—

“ _Ugh_ ,” Steve groans when Starlight licks a very wet and gross stripe from the middle of his forehead to his hairline. “Spit.”

Bucky bursts out laughing beside him, while Starlight neighs once before trotting off again.

Steve is left with a very wet forehead and bangs, grimacing in disgust. He can’t help but he a little proud of himself too.

“C’mere,” Bucky tells him in between laughs, and cups a hand around Steve’s neck. It’s Steve turn to freeze now, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But Bucky doesn’t kiss him. “Stay still,” Bucky says, and then he’s blowing softly at the spit covering Steve’s face.

Steve feels a rush of tingly warmth where Starlight licked him, only to find himself completely dry in the next second.

“I love magic,” Steve states, and then goes a little cross-eyed when Bucky smiles at him, big and fond.

“I love my gift,” Bucky says, thumb rubbing over the soft skin under Steve’s ear.

“I have another one for you,” Steve blurts out, totally enamored by the beauty of Bucky’s smile.

Bucky reels back a little in surprise, but the soft look doesn’t vanish from his face. “I don’t need anything else. Not today.”

“Then it works out, because this gift is for another day,” Steve says. He brings one hand up to wrap around Bucky’s wrist, fingers brushing his pulse point.

“What is it?”

“I want you to spend time with me,” Steve says, and then rushes to add, “this Friday. All day and all afternoon.”

Bucky’s hand tightens at the back of Steve’s neck, intense gaze totally focused on Steve. “Spend time with you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue.

Steve knows this is different. He knows of the important distinction between Bucky showing up like he always has, and Steve purposefully inviting him to do something so they can share time together.

“Yes. If you want.”

“I want,” Bucky immediately says, and the words send a rush of heat through Steve’s body.

“Good.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s wrist, and then tries to pretend his heart doesn’t want to beat out of his chest when he says, “It’s a date.”

 

**

 

**From: Steve @ Assemble [3:48PM]** :

SOS SOS SOS

**From: Nat [3:48PM]** :

Did you get your head stuck in one of your ridiculously tight shirts again????

**From: Sam** **[3:48PM]** :

Just flex and rip them man

**From: Tony** **[3:48PM]:**

W A I T let me ask Jarvis to get a picture first

**From: Clint** **[3:49PM]:**

Send it to me pls

**From: Steve** **[3:49PM]:**

THIS IS NOT!!! THE TIME FOR JOKES!!!

**From: Thor** **[3:49PM]:**

it is always time for jokes my friend

but what ails u and how can we help

**From: Bruce [3:49PM]:**

What Thor said.

**From: Steve** **[3:49PM]:**

I have a date with Bucky

 

Steve’s fingers shake as he types in and sends the last message. He’s been in a constant state of lowkey anxiety since he said his goodbyes to Bucky yesterday, with a tight hug and a happy smile. He’s so glad he’s asked Bucky to spend time with him, aside from what is expected of their deal, but now he’s kind of freaking out.

Because he has a date with Bucky.

He has a _date_ with _Bucky_.

“Oh god,” Steve wheezes, staring down at his phone and willing his friends to reply. Because of course, as soon as Steve actually tells them what he needs help with, suddenly there’s radio silence. Which, to be fair, only lasts for another second before his phone is blowing up with notifications.

 

**From: Tony [3:52PM]:**

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A MIRACLE

**From: Sam [3:52PM]:**

I’m happy for you man but ugh couldn’t you have picked someone I like better

**From: Thor [3:52PM]:**

a joyous occasion!

bucky is an excellent warrior and i’m sure he will also be excellent at fulfilling your romantic needs

**From: Nat [3:52PM]:**

If I’d known that big racks were what you were truly looking for in a date, I would have adjusted my blind date picks, Steven

**From: Clint [3:52PM]:**

Nat: Agent Carter tho

**From: Tony [3:52PM]:**

DON’T TALK ABOUT AUNT PEGGY THAT WAY

**From: Steve [3:53PM]:**

DON’T TALK ABOUT PEGGY LIKE THAT!!!

**From: Bruce** **[3:53PM]:**

What do you need help with, Steve?

 

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, quick to type his response.

 

**From: Steve** **[3:53PM]:**

Thank you, Bruce, for being THE ONLY HELPFUL ONE

And… everything?

 

There are a few seconds of silence again, those of which Steve is _sure_ are filled with all of the Avengers staring down at their phones with a disappointed look on their faces and shaking his head. In his defense, he hasn’t been on a date since the disastrous attempt to take Sharon out, of which resulted in him figuring out that she was way more interested in the cute waitress than him.

 

**From: Nat** **[3:54PM]:**

Common room @ 4:00PM

Avengers, assemble!

We’re getting Steve laid :D

 

Steve sputters and chokes a little bit on his tongue, entire face flushed and heart filled with fear at Natasha’s use of the smiley emoji.

 

**From: Steve [3:54PM]:**

Omg Nat no!!!! That’s not what I need help with!!!

 

Of course, there are no replies.

 

**From: Steve [3:55PM]:**

Guys???

Seriously, please don’t

**From: Steve [3:57PM]:**

Ugh, fINE

 

**

 

“You’re late,” Natasha says when he arrives, not even bothering to look up from the cupcakes she’s frosting.

“How did you bake them so fast?” Steve gestures at the cupcakes, fighting the urge to steal one for himself. He’s very fond of his hand, thanks.

“They were already chilling when you texted us about sex advice,” Clint replies as he arranges tiny little arrows on top of the frosting.

Steve bristles, more out of shame than anger. “I don’t need sex advice!”

“Just use protection.” Sam clasps him on the shoulder, and then frowns. “We don’t know if the fae can, like, magically get you pregnant or something.”

Steve’s face pales due to sheer horror, which is not helped by Thor waving a hand at them.

“They can’t,” Thor says, carefully arranging each decorated cupcake into a silver tray. “Not without making a deal with you first.”

“That’s so interesting,” Bruce comments, turning around in his chair to face Thor. “Does this apply to people without uteri as well?”

Thor nods, which launches him and Bruce into a conversation that makes Steve want to throw up and toss himself out the window.

“I’m not getting pregnant!” Steve announces as he bangs his hand on the counter, the loud sound stopping all conversation for a moment.

“Do I want to know?” Tony asks as he bursts into the room, looking from Steve to all of the Avengers and back again. “You know what? I don’t. Steve, I have a thing for you. You’re welcome.”

Steve takes the brown bag Tony hands to him, brows furrowing when he stares inside. He picks up the glittery bottle and turns it around in his hand, pale skin now a healthy pink when his eyes catch the label.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve hisses, clutching the bottle to his chest.

“What?” Tony shrugs. “I’m just being helpful. Like Bruce.”

“Buying me Fairy Dust lube isn’t _being helpful_ ,” Steve argues.

Thor lifts his head up so fast that lighting sparks around him, eyes zeroing in on Steve’s hand. “Is it real fairy dust?”

“No…” Tony drawls. “That’s just the name. Why?”

“Fairy dust is known to have… aphrodisiac properties when used in certain manners,” Thor explains.

“Sex pollen!” Tony gasps. “It’s totally sex pollen.”

“Ugh.” Steve leaves Tony, Thor, and Bruce get wrapped up in their scientific conversations again. He turns to Nat, Clint, and Sam, who are all trying to focus on the cupcakes while holding in their laughter. “Don’t laugh at me,” Steve whines, setting his fairy lube away from the food. “I need help.”

“And we are here to support you,” Sam assures, and then adds, “but not without making fun of you.”

“It is one of the true joys I have in my life,” Natasha sniffs and lays a hand over her heart. “Don’t take it away from me.”

Steve shakes his head at them, torn between fondness and exasperation. “I’m freaking out a little,” he admits, fidgeting with one of the cupcake wrappers. “I really like him. I don’t want to fuck things up.”

“Hey, you won’t.” Sam bumps their shoulders together. “That boy looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass. I bet you could insult his horse and dent his fancy armor plate, and he’d still want to bang you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Steve snarks, but he can’t deny the words do make him feel better.

“The fae don’t let themselves get attached to just anybody,” Natasha tells him. “Caring makes them vulnerable, so Bucky must like you a great deal to let himself have a weak point that carries a huge shield-shaped target on his back.”

Steve squirms a little in his seat. “I’m better at taking care of myself.”

“Bucky is better at making _you_ take care of yourself,” Sam points out. “That’s why I don’t _hate_ him, just… severely dislike him.”

“You smile more when he’s around,” Clint pipes up.

“And you actually look well rested,” Natasha adds.

“You don’t destroy as many punching bags,” Tony says, propping his elbow up on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “We’re actually saving money, for once.”

“You haven’t asked me for my sleepy time tea for a few months now,” Bruce says.

“Your aura is shinier.” Thor gives Steve a once over, and then squints. “It’s kind of irritating.”

“Guys.” Steve blushes a little. He kind of wants to hug them all and cry a little, but he settles for letting out a slow breath and reminding them why he’s here, “That’s why I need help. I… I know Bucky is good to me, and I kind of want to keep him around.”

“You’re still doing the gifts, correct?” Thor asks, now all business. When Steve nods, he continues, “That’s the important thing, Steve. The fact that you also want to spend time with him in addition to your deal will speak volumes to Bucky as fae. They value things you can make yourself: food, art, clothes. Gifts should get nicer and nicer the longer this goes on for. Just don’t give him anything that’s made of iron.” Thor shudders. “Or mirrors. Whatever you do, don’t give him a mirror.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises, focusing on the little bit of knowledge he’s gathered from Thor’s words.

It makes sense that Bucky’s gifts have changed since they started this. They’ve become more personal and, yes, a lot nicer. He’s glad to know he’s matched that without thought. His instincts haven’t failed him.

“Remember to communicate,” Sam adds on, leveling Steve with a look that makes shame rise up in Steve’s stomach. Steve hasn’t always been the best at talking about his feelings, but he’s trying. “That’s important to any kind of relationship, but even more so when your boyfriend is legit someone who tricks people into agreeing to shady deals.”

“Sam,” Steve groans, because that’s not exactly what Bucky does.

Or at least it’s not what he did with Steve.

And also: _boyfriend_. Oh my god.

“Be nice to his space horse and space dogs,” Clint offers his own advice. “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat animals.”

“Noted.”

“Don’t forget who he really is,” Bruce tells him with a down twist to his lips, “and what he is capable of. Accept all that he is, the good and the bad.”

Steve nods in thanks, and then looks around the room. “Any more words of wisdom?”

“Yes.” Tony rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Be happy. Moping doesn’t look good on you. You don’t have the face for it.”

Steve grins, heart so full it could burst, and he doesn’t stop himself from leaning down and hugging Tony. Even when Tony squawks and tries to pull away.

“Thank you, guys,” Steve says after he lets go, still smiling. “This means a lot.”

“That’s what family is for,” Natasha says. She has an odd look on his face, quite like she still doesn’t really know what to do with the fact that they’re _family_.

Steve can relate.

“Okay, I’m gonna go,” Steve says, breathing deep. “I still have some planning to do. And no,” he continues, when Tony opens his mouth, “I’m not giving you guys any details.”

Natasha points an accusing finger at him. “That is _not_ what family is for.”

“Agreed,” Thor pipes up. “We want to know everything.”

“Is he a gentleman?” Clint asks.

“Doubt it,” Sam mumbles.

“Did you have fun?” Bruce asks.

“Is he a good kisser?” Natasha waggles her eyebrows.

“I can’t hear suddenly, I don’t know.” Steve shakes his head, already walking away.

“Is his dick as big as his antlers?” Tony yells after him. “The people want to know!”

“Tell us about his Man Antler, Steve!” Natasha and Clint shout, and then break out into laughter.

Steve hides a smile and leaves.

He has a date to plan.

 

**

 

Steve stares down at the mess of clothes on his bed and swears. He’s better at looking fashionable these days—no more high-waisted khaki pants and tucked-in flannel shirts—but he’s still not sure what he should wear for his day with Bucky.

He considers calling Nat for help, but quickly dismisses the idea. She’ll probably just end up throwing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top at his face and tell him to embrace and show off his _ass_ ets.

“You can do this,” Steve mutters to himself. He’s spent enough time around Bucky to know what kind of clothes he favors, so it shouldn’t be this hard to find something to wear.

It takes Steve another 15 minutes before he finally finds something he feels comfortable and pretty in. He’s wearing a pair of his dark wash skinny jeans that, according to the guy that sold them to him, cups him in all the right places. A maroon henley complements the look, with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone, showing off a hint of collarbone. On his feet, Steve has the boots Bucky gifted him.

Steve does a twirl in front of the mirror and nods at himself. “Not bad.”

“You look very dashing, Captain,” Jarvis offers, making Steve jump a little. “I thought I’d warn you that Bucky has arrived. He should be here in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.”

Steve rushes to grab everything he needs for today and then darts to the living room, just as Bucky arrives. Steve stops in place, breath catching in his lungs, as he takes in the sight of Bucky in front of him.

Bucky is dressed very much like Steve, with the pair of jeans he stole from Steve and his usual Hunt boots. His henley is black, paired with a sleek black leather jacket thrown on top of it. Bucky’s hair is in its usual intricate braids that start at his temple and end at the back of his head, with thin silver threads woven through it. His antlers are glamoured away.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve breathes out, heart in his throat and hands itching to touch.

Bucky smiles at him, as bright as the sun, at the same time his cheeks turn a bit pink. “So are you.”

“C’mere.” Steve opens his arms to Bucky. He gets a small pang in his chest when Bucky still hesitates from a second before stepping into the hug. Steve holds him extra tight just for that, tucking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and pulling him close. “Hi.”

Bucky’s arms are tight around his waist. “Hello.”

“Are you ready for today?” Steve asks, leaning back a little so he can stare at Bucky’s face, but not breaking the hug.

Bucky nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve asked Clint to keep an eye on Starlight. He seemed very excited.”

“He would be.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s shoulders. “We should get going. There’s a lot I want to show you today.”

“My time is yours,” Bucky says like a vow. He seems reluctant to end the hug, but whatever disappointment that flashes over his features when they break apart is gone when Steve catches hold of one of his hands.

“Then let’s go. It’s a ways to Brooklyn.”

Bucky lights up, recognizing that name. “You’re showing me your home?”

“I am,” Steve replies as they leave the apartment and start to make their way towards the elevator. “One of them, anyway. The home that made me who I am today.”

“How are we getting there? We could take Starlight.”

Steve shakes his head. “We’re being just like everyone else today. We’re taking the subway.”

“What’s a subway?” Bucky asks, head tilted to the side.

Steve smiles. “You’ll see.”

 

**

 

“Steve,” Bucky starts, gaze scanning their surroundings.

“Yes?”

“Are all subways disgusting?”

Steve muffles his laughter with a hand over his mouth, his other one still firmly holding on to Bucky. “Kinda, yeah.”

Bucky’s nose scrunches up, and he only sounds half put out when he says, “Starlight would have taken us. We could’ve been there by now.”

“I didn’t know Starlight back then,” Steve says, dragging Bucky to the correct platform. “This is how we did things.”

Steve doesn’t mention he never made this trip back in the day. Money was short, and spending it to go over to Manhattan for a day wasn’t money well spent. Bucky doesn’t need to know that, though. Not if Steve wants to share with him a little bit of human experience.

Bucky sighs, long-suffering. “If we must.”

“You can cuddle up to me on the way,” Steve offers.

Bucky twitches, just once, his grossed-out expression turning into interest. “That’d be acceptable.”

Steve lets out a low laugh. “Good to know.”

They do just that, with Bucky sitting down as close to Steve as possible, their hands still laced together. He startles and then tenses when the train gets moving, as if ready for an attack, but soon relaxes again when Steve hooks their ankles together.

“Was that too terrible?” Steve asks once they’re out, the familiar sight of Brooklyn settling something deep in his chest.

“It wasn’t good,” Bucky grumbles. “Starlight is better.”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs at Bucky’s hand, walking him through the streets that he traced when he was young. No one bothers them; people are used to Steve passing through his old neighborhood and, aside from a few curious glances at Bucky, no one approaches them.

Steve takes a deep breath when they turn the corner into a familiar street. He still has a sense of fucked up déjà vu, like the image he’s staring at is wrong. His old apartment building isn’t there anymore, torn down a few decades before Steve woke up.

“This is where I grew up, sort of.” Steve looks up at the new building that’s taken its place. It’s a little weird, seeing all the ways in which Brooklyn has changed, especially when Steve’s memories of it are still so clear in his mind. “My Ma used to come home from work late at night and we’d sit down in front of the window, watching the street while we ate supper. She must have been tired, but she still let me go on and on about my day.”

Steve takes in a shaky breath. Coming here doesn’t hurt anymore. With Sam and Nat’s help, he’s gotten used to this new Brooklyn. But talking about his Ma is different. It still makes his heart clench painfully in his chest, as sadness wells deep inside of him.

“You miss her,” Bucky says quietly, thumb rubbing over Steve’s knuckles.

“Every day.” Steve clears his throat, blinking back images of his Ma’s laughter, the soft touch of her hand swiping his bangs away from his face, her voice telling him she loves him.

“Could I see a picture of her, one day?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t have any pictures,” Steve says with a sad twist of his mouth. He fumbles for his wallet, struggling to open it with one hand. “I have this, though.”

Bucky lets go of his hand, but immediately grabs for the back of Steve’s shirt. Steve is grateful for the contact, lest he be swept off by memories and float away. The paper is worn at the edges, but the drawing Steve did of his Ma is still there. She looks as Steve remembers her: kind eyes laced with exhaustion, and a smile so filled with love and warmth that it hurts Steve to look at.

Bucky peers down at the drawing, lips twitching up at the corners. “You have her spirit.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “How do you know?”

“The smile.” Bucky glances up at Steve, bringing his hand up to Steve’s face. His finger brushed lightly under under the curve of Steve’s bottom lip, and then presses down at the corner. “It looks exactly like yours, when you’re happy.”

Steve’s stomach flips, and he wonders how it’s possible to feel this happy and sad at the same time. He pushes those thoughts aside, trying to focus on the now. With a tilt of his head, he drops a soft kiss to the tip of Bucky’s finger.

Bucky’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth parts in a breath, all which serves to make Steve swear to himself to keep showing Bucky how wonderful it is to be touched. Not now, though. Not when they are in the middle of the street, and not when Steve thinks he might burst into tears at any moment.

“Are you ready to see all the alleys I got into fights in?” Steve asks, needing to change the subject.

“I don’t know.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Did you win them?”

Steve snorts and grabs Bucky’s hand again, lacing their fingers together, and starts walking again. “I did not. I don’t think I ever won a fight before I got the serum.”

Bucky nods. “You were practicing, then. That’s good. It means you knew your weaknesses.”

“I _was_ weaknesses. I showed you my picture. I’m lucky I didn’t die.”

“You always had a warrior’s soul,” Bucky tells him, sounding all kinds of proud. “Now you have the body to match.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that Captain America is good because he’s Steve Rogers, and not the other way around. To have Bucky say it so plainly like this, like it’s obvious, kind of twists Steve up inside.

“Here you go. Alley stop one.” Steve gestures to the dark and stinky alley to their left, trying not to laugh at Bucky’s disgusted and horrified look. “I got into my first fight here. Some kids were hurting this tiny little black cat, so I made them stop. They threw me in a dumpster.”

A low growl comes from Bucky’s mouth at that, his eyes narrowed. “Who were they?”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t know. And they’re probably all dead now.”

“Good,” Bucky says, expression still set to Murder. It’s actually kind of hot. “No one gets to hurt you.”

“That’s not really how life works, Buck,” Steve says with a gentle tone.

Bucky presses his lips in a thin line. “We’ll see,” he says, the edge of a growl still in his voice.

“Maybe we should move on from the Alley Tour.” Steve gets them walking again. “How about some food?”

“Did you make it?” Bucky perks up, bright eyes staring up at Steve in excitement.

Steve feels only a little terrible when he dashes Bucky’s dreams. “Not this time. I promise it’s still good, though.”

Bucky hums once, swinging their hands back and forth. “I trust you,” he says after a few seconds, “but I doubt I’ll like it better than what you make for me.”

Steve ducks his head as he feels blood rush to his cheeks, a pleased little smile playing at his lips. “Let’s go, then.”

Steve takes Bucky to one of the few diners that still existed back in his day, happy to see they’re still serving breakfast food. The owner, Sandra, a petite woman with black curly hair that falls to her shoulders, grins when she sees Steve.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Sandra drawls, coming up from behind the counter to give him a hug. “It’s good to see you, Steve. Mama’s been complaining that you haven’t shown your face around here in a while.”

“Hi, Sandra. I’ve been a little busy.”

Sandra gives Bucky a sly glance before looking back at Steve. “I’d say. Who is this?”

“This is Bucky.” Steve makes the introductions, blushing only a little when Sandra winks at him after shaking Bucky’s hand. “We were wondering if you’re still serving waffles? I know it’s a little late in the morning—”

“Nonsense.” Sandra waves a hand at him. “You and your boyfriend go sit down. I’ll send Andre with the food in a bit.”

“Thanks.”

Bucky waits until after they’ve made themselves comfortable in a corner booth, their legs tangled together under the table. “Boyfriend?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, a slight smirk curling at his lips.

“I— Well… I mean,” Steve stutters, entire face going red.

“Is that a different way to say mates?” Bucky adds, seemingly enjoying the way he’s making Steve squirm.

“You know it is. Sort of. It’s a little more low commitment,” Steve mumbles, and then lets out a slow breath, “and I know we haven’t talked about it, but that’s kind of where this is going.”

“There is no _kind of_ about it,” Bucky corrects him. He lays his hands on the table, palm up. Steve rests his hands on top of Bucky’s own. “Not on my part, anyway.”

“Not on mine, either,” Steve assures him. “I just… I like how we’re taking things slow. But I also know we need to talk about all of this before we take that step.”

“And we’re not talking about that right now,” Bucky says, showing he understand exactly what Steve means.

“Not yet. It’s… I want to, just not right now.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky murmurs, and then he brings Steve’s hand up to his lips. “I like courting you, you know? I like this.”

“Me too,” Steve admits with a whisper, heart fluttering when Bucky smiles at him.

Bucky’s eyes turn adorably wide when Andre arrives with their food, taking in the waffles under a pile of whipped cream and berries. With it, there are two steaming coffee mugs, which Andre sets down in front of them before he wishes them a nice meal.

Bucky turns his nose up a little at the coffee, dumping cream and about ten sugar packets in the mug before he’s satisfied. Steve gets a little sick just looking at it, but he can’t help the smile that breaks across his face when Bucky takes a sip and hums in pleasure.

“Are all waffles like this?” Bucky asks before popping one berry into his mouth and chewing slowly.

Steve shakes his head. “You can also change what you eat them with. Butter, honey, different kinds of fruit. All depends on what you like.”

“I like this,” Bucky says around a mouthful of whipped cream, a little bit of it sticking to the corner of his mouth. “‘S sweet. And fluffy. Like a cloud.”

Steve snorts and wipes at the cream on Bucky’s mouth with a thumb. He only realizes what he’s done when Bucky freezes under his touch, before mirroring Steve’s earlier action and brushing a light kiss to his finger.

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat and goes back to his food, face hot. “Try the waffles.”

Bucky does and promptly gives Steve a thumbs up, signaling his approval. “I like human food,” he says, his mouthful. “Steve food is still better, though.”

“You’re biased,” Steve says, knocking his ankle against Bucky’s. “I like fae food, too. At least, I really liked the fruit.”

“Remind me to give you more before I go.” Bucky takes a sip of his coffee to wash the food down. “I don’t remember where I grew up.”

Steve pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth before setting it down again. “No?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t remember a lot about being human, about who I was before. Memories sort of run together after some time.”

Steve feels a pang of sadness deep in his chest, for Bucky to have forgotten that part of himself. “You made a new home, though,” he tries, because he knows that to be true.

“The woods.” Bucky smiles a little. “You, maybe.”

Steve smiles back at Bucky, ignoring the rush of feeling that courses through him. Home can be a person, yes. He’s seen it with Natasha and Clint. Bucky deserves to have that, if he wants it to. Steve, well… he doesn’t think he’s the best choice, but he’ll do everything in his power to give Bucky what he wants.

They eat the rest of the food while talking about lighter things. Steve asks Bucky about the books he’s been reading whenever he rummages through Steve’s shelves for entertaining, while Steve tells him about the latest Avengers shenanigans. It’s the kind of conversation they’ve grown used to, just talking to each other about their days and whatever new thing that captured their attention at the moment.

Sandra hugs them goodbye before they leave, _both_ of them, much to Bucky’s wide-eyed surprise. He clings a little harder to Steve when they step outside again, one hand around his waist while the other clutches to the front of Steve’s shirt.

“Okay?” Steve asks, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“Odd,” Bucky answers, a little furrow between his brows, “to have other people touch me. People who aren’t you. I don’t know if I like it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve holds him a little tighter. “You can always tell them you don’t do hugs.”

“I do only _your_ hugs,” Bucky corrects him. He lets go Steve’s shirt and snakes that arm around Steve’s waist in a sideways hug, proving his point. “Where are you taking me now?”

“Home,” Steve says, remembering Bucky’s words.

Bucky scowls at him. “But it’s still early.”

Steve doesn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing Bucky’s scowl away, softly pressing his lips to Bucky’s forehead. When he pulls back, Bucky is blinking owlishly up at him, mouth once against parted, like Steve has just showed him a whole new world.

“It’s not really home,” Steve explains. “It might just… feel familiar, to you.”

Bucky blinks again, and then he closes his mouth around a smile. “Woods.”

“Eh.” Steve shrugs. “We don’t really have them here, but close.”

“Then take me there.”

Prospect Park is another place from Steve’s childhood, but with no bad memories attached. Right after he came out of the ice, he used to come here and lie beneath the trees, pretending it was still 19-something and everyone he knew wasn’t dead. Now, with Bucky, it sort of feels like a new beginning.

Bucky’s entire demeanor changes when he finds himself surrounded by nature. His steps are lighter, muscles more relaxed, and the smile playing on his lips is small, but undeniably happy. He seems more settled, in a way that he usually only is when cuddling on the couch with Steve.

“Wanna walk around?” Steve asks. “Commune with the trees?”

“Yes, please,” Bucky answers, already letting go of Steve’s middle in favor of holding his hand and tugging him further into the park.

Bucky touches every plant and tree he comes across, like he’s soaking up whatever natural vibes they put off. His smile widens whenever a bird flies by, when he sees the geese around the water, when a dog comes running past them. For someone who lives his whole life fighting, Bucky looks surprisingly harmless surrounded by nature.

“This is a good place,” Bucky tells him as they cross one of the bridges, fingers dancing over the edge. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“No thanks necessary,” Steve says. “I’m glad you like it.”

They walk around aimlessly for some time, just enjoying the view and quietness of the park, their hands swinging between them. Steve itches for his sketchbook, wanting to capture Bucky’s smiling face when he’s surrounded by trees, but he figures he can wait until he’s home to put those images to paper.

They stop for hot dogs after a couple of hours, when the rumbling of Steve’s stomach starts to disrupt the silence that falls around them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry?” Bucky asks, expression set like he’s on a Mission as they quickly make their way through the paths in search for food.

“I’m fine,” Steve argues. “We can eat later.”

“I am not leaving you hungry,” Bucky replies, lips pressed thin in a way that betrays his displeasure.

So Steve introduces Bucky to hot dogs, not at all surprised when Bucky insists they buy six different combinations for them to try. The sweetness of ketchup is Bucky’s favorite, if going by the way he absolutely drowns his buns with it. Steve chews on his food and wonders at Bucky’s life choices. Although, having a boyfriend with a sweet-tooth is not the worst thing in the world.

Steve gets a little sleepy after eating, and he doesn’t complain when Bucky directs them to a more secluded spot in the park, surrounded by tall trees and grass, and pushes Steve to the ground. Steve lies down, with his back propped against the trunk of a tree, and laughs a little when Bucky pushes up right against his side, his head resting on Steve’s chest.

“How are you liking our day so far?” Steve asks, only a little nervous at the answer. He plays with the ends of one of Bucky’s braids, twisting it around his finger.

“I love it,” Bucky says, and he rubs his cheek against Steve’s chest for a moment. “We don’t get a lot of peaceful days with the Hunt.”

“No?”

“No. There is always a fight, somewhere, that calls to our name. To who we are. We have a duty, and humans are always good at keeping us busy.” Bucky lets out a slow breath. “I love the fighting, but I love this too.”

Steve presses his mouth to Bucky’s hair. He understands that, the rush that comes with fighting for your life, how good and addicting it can be. But he also craves the quieter moments, when it’s only him and his friends, when they have nothing to do and no promises to keep.

“Would you ever…” Steve trails off, a little unsure if his question would be welcomed.

Bucky pokes him in the stomach. “Don’t be afraid to ask me questions.”

“Would you ever quit the Hunt?”

Bucky is silent for a few beats, considering his answer. “Yes,” he finally says. “If there was someone to take my place. But not now. Not for a long time yet.”

Steve nods. That’s how he feels about Captain America. “You still have work to do.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What will you do once it’s all over?” Steve whispers, his own fears coloring his tone.

Bucky lifts his head up, chin digging into Steve’s sternum. “What will you?” he throws the question back at Steve, eyebrow raised.

Steve swallows hard and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“We have time to figure it out,” Bucky tells him with a small smile, and then settles down again.

“Yes,” Steve says, breathing it deep and letting himself relax. “We do.”

 

**

 

“Stop fidgeting.”

“What if someone sees us?” Steve hisses, nervously looking around. Although, to be fair, someone seeing Bucky grow flowers out of thin air probably won’t register as weird. Not after the aliens.

Bucky puffs out an annoyed breath and flicks his hand. A second later, Steve feels the warm tingle of magic around him.

“There,” Bucky says, going back to his flowers. “We’re hidden.”

“Why are you even doing this?” Steve asks, even as he _is_ oddly fascinated by the flowers sprouting from the ground in a mix of varying different colors.

“I made good memories today,” Bucky answers. “It is only fair that I give this place something back.”

Steve opens his mouth only to close it again, feeling touched by Bucky’s words. It is almost the end of the afternoon, the end of the time Steve had asked for them to spend together, and Steve doesn’t want to let him go. Having the flowers here, as a reminder of today, warms Steve’s heart.

“Do you need help?” Steve offers, even though he knows he can’t do anything.

“I need you to stand there and be pretty,” Bucky tells him, and grins at the way Steve flushes. “My inspiration.”

“Stop it,” Steve groans and hides his face behind his hands. The low sound of Bucky’s chuckle brings an answering smile to his lips. “Will it take long?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, sounding a lot closer than he did before.

Steve drops his hands, breath hitching when he sees Bucky standing right in front of him. He has a lavender rose in his hand, which he taps to Steve’s chest one before extending it to him.

“No thorns,” Bucky informs him, eyes smiling when Steve gently takes it from him.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve murmurs. “No one ever gave me flowers before.”

Bucky seems proud at that, his soft smile turning into a smug one. “It won’t need water,” he says. “Just sunlight. It will last forever that way.”

“Magic,” Steve says softly, twirling the rose between his fingers.

Bucky bumps their shoulders together once before sliding his hand into Steve’s free one. “Our day is almost over.”

Steve nods, stomach churning. He doesn't want to say goodbye to Bucky, not yet. “Come back to the Tower with me?”

“That’s where I left my horse,” Bucky reminds him, and then squeezes Steve’s hand. “But I will come back to your apartment with you, before I have to leave.”

The subway ride back to the Tower goes much like the first one. Bucky sits as close to Steve as possible while eyeing every inch of the train with suspicion and barely concealed disgust. They hold hands the entire way, with Bucky occasionally resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Welcome back, Captain Rogers, Bucky,” Jarvis says once they arrive. “I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“We did,” Steve and Bucky answer at the same time, and then smile at each other.

They don’t let go of each other’s hands when they get to Steve’s apartment, and Steve is glad when Bucky lets himself be tugged to the couch. This is familiar territory for them: sitting down side by side, pressed together from knees to shoulders, Steve’s arm around Bucky’s back while Bucky rests a hand on Steve’s thigh. It’s comfortable in a way Steve never thought he’d experience.

“We need to do this again,” Steve says after a deep and content sigh, his fingers tracing patterns down Bucky’s arm.

Bucky turns to look at him, blue eyes fond and bright. There’s a small smile playing at his lips and Steve kind of wants to kiss him.

A _lot_.

“You’d share your time with me again?” Bucky asks, voice low and whisper soft. “Freely?”

“Yes,” Steve answers without hesitation. “I don’t need a deal to make me want to spend time with you.”

Bucky presses his lips together and, for a second, his fingers dig into the meat of Steve’s thigh. “You don’t need a deal,” he repeats, and they both know what hangs over their heads. It was months ago, but Bucky never declared the deal as fulfilled.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Just you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut, expression twisting as if he is in some kind of pain. For a second, Steve wonders if he somehow fucked up; if he broke a clause of magic he didn’t know about, if his refusal of the deal hurts something in Bucky. But a second later Bucky opens his eyes and smiles at him, as wide and as bright as the sun.

“There is no deal between us,” Bucky tells him as he raises a shaky hand to Steve’s face, “that hasn’t been met long ago. We are bonded not by the deal we struck when we met, but by our actions that came after.”

“The gifts,” Steve says and leans into Bucky’s touch.

“The ‘thank yous’,” Bucky adds, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The stories we shared. The time we spent together. That is worth more than the deal we struck when we met.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers and moves so he can rest their foreheads together.

Bucky’s hand goes from Steve’s cheek to cup the back of his neck. “Yes?”

Steve’s heart races when he pulls back to stare at Bucky’s eyes, at his flushed cheeks, his soft mouth. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, emotion making his voice crack at the question he’s been wanting to utter since meeting Bucky.

“I would like nothing more,” Bucky answers, and then tilts his head up.

Their first brush of lips is electric. Bucky gasps against Steve’s mouth, pretty lips opening up, and Steve takes the opportunity that is presented to him. He licks his way into Bucky’s mouth, tasting the sweetness that clings to him, their lips moving together.

Bucky’s hand is tight on the back of Steve’s neck, holding him in place. Steve, for his turn, lets his hands wander: he touches every bit of Bucky he can reach, with soft and light and heavy sweeps of his hand, over Bucky’s back and sides and thighs. Bucky arches into it, and Steve can feel his body trembling under the touch of his palms.

“Okay?” Steve breaks the kiss to ask, only to be pulled back in by the hand on his neck.

“Kiss me again.”

Steve laughs and does exactly as he’s told, capturing Bucky’s lips with his. This second kiss is even better than the first one, even with Steve’s teeth clinking against Bucky’s because they’re both smiling so wide.

They lose themselves in it, kissing and kissing until they’re both out of breath, lips slick and red and swollen.

Bucky keeps making this soft little sounds in the back of his throat whenever Steve nips at his bottom lip, tongue darting out to soothe the hurt. It only makes Steve want to hear more of it, to get every tiny little moan and gasp and whimper out of Bucky as he possibly can. As is, he keeps only to kissing and touching, brushing Bucky’s lips with his and holding Bucky’s trembling body against his own.

They move, at one point. Steve doesn’t really know how they go from sitting to lying on the couch, doesn’t really care. All that matters is the strong line of Bucky’s body beneath his, hair fanning over one of the cushions, the cloak he gifted Steve long ago bunched up under him.

“Hi,” Steve murmurs as he lowers himself on top of Bucky’s body, taking in the way Bucky tenses at the touch before going completely and utterly pliant.

“Steve.” Bucky snakes his arms around Steve’s shoulders, while one hand reached up to run through Steve’s hair. “You should kiss me again.”

Steve grins. “Again?”

Bucky nods, their faces so close that their noses bump together. “You shouldn’t have stopped,” he says, and then adds, “I like the way you touch me.”

“How do I touch you?” Steve asks, although he has a very good idea.

“Like I’m something precious,” Bucky whispers, lips tilting up at the corners. “Like I’m not something to fear.”

Steve kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth, the dimple on his chin. “You are precious,” he says with a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose. “And I’ve never been scared of you.”

Bucky laughs at that, low and in a bit of disbelief. “You have not. You decided to like me, instead. To touch me with kindness instead of with violence.”

“To kiss you,” Steve adds, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s mouth to prove his point. “And to hold you close.”

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders, tiny tremors running through his body. “I haven’t known touch like this in decades.”

Steve keeps peppering kisses to Bucky’s face, just light brushes of lips. He knows he can’t wipe away the violence and blood and death that have been Bucky’s life, but he can give him some love and comfort. Steve understands what is like, to always expect pain and hurt when someone lays a hand on you. The Avengers taught him it doesn’t always have to be like that. Now it’s Steve’s time to teach Bucky.

“You have me now,” Steve says with a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, “to touch you like this all the time.”

Bucky grins, his smile a mixture of giddiness and mirth. “All the time?”

“Yes.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and drops his weight, knowing Bucky can take it. “I’ll never let go. You’ll just have to fight with me attached to your side.”

Bucky’s fingers dig into Steve’s back, a little bit of pain that Steve welcomes with open arms, at the same time his breath stutters. “That would be…” Bucky trails off, only long enough so he can find Steve’s mouth with his own, his next words whispered against Steve’s lips, “a dream come true.”

“You have weird dreams,” Steve teases, and then kisses Bucky again when he laughs.

“I am fae,” Bucky tells him between kisses. “Oddness is what makes us.”

Steve nuzzles their noses together, one hand coming up to tangle through Bucky’s braids. He stops when his fingers bump against something. “Oh, your glamour is gone.”

Bucky’s antlers are visible again, and poking the arm of Steve’s couch.

Bucky mouths at Steve’s jaw, breath hot against Steve’s skin. “‘S difficult to maintain a glamour when one is… distracted.”

“So I shouldn’t kiss you in public?”

“You should kiss me all the time,” Bucky tells him with a smile. “But maybe not like this when we’re among people who don’t know who I am, what I am.”

“Got it,” Steve says, and then leans in to kiss Bucky again, just because he can.

It’s quickly becoming addicting, the feel of Bucky’s lips against his mouth, Bucky’s taste on his tongue, the little sounds he makes whenever Steve touches him. Steve wants more of it, _all of it_ , but he won’t push past what they’ve done so far.

Like the rest of their courtship, Steve kind of wants to take this slow, to savor it as much as he can.

“You can touch me too, you know,” Steve murmurs, right before sweeping into another kiss.

Bucky’s arms haven’t moved from around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve is eager to feel Bucky’s hands all over him.

Bucky’s throat clicks as he swallows, and he looks uncertain for the first time since Steve asked to kiss him. “Are you sure?”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, stealing yet another kiss. “I want you to. Please.”

Bucky’s eyes darken, and next thing he knows Steve is flying through the air as a yelp bursts past his mouth. Steve barely has any time to process that now _he_ is the one on his back on the couch before Bucky is on top of him, Bucky’s mouth on him, and Bucky’s hands _all over him_.

It’s Steve’s turn to shiver at the feeling of Bucky’s sure hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and up his back, pulling him close and touching as much skin as he can.

“Okay?” Bucky asks, much like Steve had before.

Steve brushes a kiss over his lips. “So okay.”

Bucky grins and then kisses him again, and they waste another half hour that way. Steve catalogs every single sound Bucky makes when Steve tugs at his hair, nips at his lips, sucks on his tongue. He wants to know what Bucky likes and how to make him feel good. And it seems like Bucky works much the same way, exploring Steve’s body with a single-mindedness that takes Steve’s breath away.

Yet, like all good things, this one must come to an end. At least for now.

“I must go,” Bucky says, but doesn’t stop kissing his way down Steve’s neck. His stubble tickles in the best kind of way, and Steve tilts his head to the side, giving Bucky more room.

“You could stay.” Steve cups Bucky’s cheek with a hand, bringing his face up. “I want you to stay.”

The smile Buck gives him is frustrated, and he drops his forehead to rest against Steve’s. “I want that too, but the Hunt calls.”

Steve’s stomach churns, but he understands that kind of duty. He kisses Bucky again, a soft brush of lips, and says, “I’ll walk you up.”

It takes them another few minutes to get untangled from each other. They’re both sporting absolutely ridiculous bed hair, something Steve promises to himself to put to paper. Bucky fixes his own braids with a flick of his fingers and magic, but, when he goes to do the same for Steve, Steve stops him.

“Leave it.” Steve takes hold of Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’ll be something to remember you by.”

“Like the rose,” Bucky muses, which is now sitting on Steve’s nightstand.

Steve pecks Bucky on the lips. “Yes.”

Starlight snorts when he sees both of them. His eyes seem to be glowing brighter, which matches the smile Bucky gives his horse as they step onto the roof.

“Thank you for waiting,” Bucky tells the horse, giving him a good pet before turning to Steve. “A kiss goodbye?”

Steve smiles and tugs Bucky in by his belt loops, before wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. “A kiss _goodnight_ ,” Steve corrects him, and then leans in for a deep kiss.

Bucky kisses back just as sweet, hands cupping Steve’s face. “I will see you soon, sweetheart,” he promises when he pulls back.

“For another date,” Steve adds, watching as Bucky mounts Starlight.

Bucky grins at him, the silver threads in his hair shining under the moonlight. “For many more dates to come,” he says and, blowing Steve a kiss, he rides.

_Yes_ , Steve smiles to himself. _For many more dates to come_.


	5. Bucky

Bucky is riding high through the clouds.

He can still feel Steve’s mouth against his own and taste him on his tongue. His lips still tingle from each and every kiss, a sweet reminder of the step they’ve taken today and of how much Bucky wants him.

His sunshine warrior.

Bucky laughs to himself, the sound carrying through the clouds. Beneath him, Starlight glances at him, glowing eyes amused.

“Steve kissed me today,” Bucky confides, a bright grin on his face.

Starlight snorts and turns back around again. Bucky doesn’t mind. He is as happy as he’s ever been and he will not hide it.

Steve _kissed him_ today, and Bucky knows Steve will kiss him for many more years to come.

 

**

 

Bucky manages to stay away from the Tower for exactly half a day, with Bobby following at his heels. Bucky fights with the Wild Hunt and picks souls to serve, but as soon as his duty is done, he is back to the familiar skylight of New York and the call of his love.

Jarvis knows to take him wherever Steve is when Bucky arrives at the Tower. And as soon as he sees Steve, his heart trips in his chest and a smile blooms across his face. Bucky would be embarrassed at how obviously his feelings make themselves known, but it helps that Steve is much the same way.

“Bucky!” Steve beams, dropping the sharp knife he’s holding and abandoning the vegetables he’s chopping. He practically bounces up to Bucky, as bright as sunshine, and pulls him into a hug.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Bucky says as he holds Steve just as tight, his lips brushing against the side of Steve’s neck. Bucky doesn’t resist the urge to press a small kiss there. He’s allowed to do that now.

“Hi.” Steve pulls back to face him, but his arms stay firmly around Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re here.”

“No place I would rather be.” Bucky smiles at him and leans in for a quick kiss, loving the way it makes color rise on Steve’s cheeks.

“Gross,” comes a voice from his left, which is followed by a sharp bark of agreement.

“You’re gross,” Steve snaps back, turning around to face Clint but _still_ not letting go of Bucky. “Hi, Bobby.”

Bobby barks again, but stays at Clint’s feet, enjoying the scratching Clint is giving him.

“Now that it’s been decided you’re both gross,” Natasha interrupts them, but before she can say anything else, Tony cuts them off.

“You _kissed_!” Tony yells, pointing a finger at both of them.

“Yes.” Bucky tilts his head to the side. He doesn’t know why Tony likes to state the obvious so much.

“So you’re a thing now.” Tony grins, clapping his hands in front of himself.

“Tony—” Steve starts.

Bucky cuts him off. “Steve is a _person_. He is not a _thing_. And neither am I.”

“A person or a thing?” Bruce asks, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Either. I’m fae.”

“And my boyfriend,” Steve announces, only turning around in the circle of Bucky’s arms so he can face his friends. “Because we’re dating now.”

Bucky smiles again, arms tight around Steve’s waist. “Yes, we are.”

“Does this mean I have to be nice to you?” Sam asks, even though he’s smiling as big as Bucky’s ever seen it.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Bucky answers and earns a laugh from Sam.

“I’m happy for you.” Sam pulls Steve out of Bucky’s arms and in for a hug, but when he goes to do the same thing for Bucky, Bucky flinches back. Sam stops with his hand in mid-air, and then slowly lowers it back again.

“I don’t do hugs,” Bucky says, remembering Steve’s advice from their date.

“That’s okay,” Sam says, and then raises a curled fist up. “Do you do fist bumps?”

Bucky stares down at Sam’s curled fist. That is more familiar than arms wrapped around him. “Teach me?”

“Just hold your hand out like mine,” Sam says, and when Bucky does, he gently bumps their knuckles together. “There you go.”

“Oh.” Bucky glances a his hand. This is… not as odd as hugs from strangers. It’s actually rather nice. They are like headbutts, but for his hands.  “Yes,” he says. “I do fist bumps.”

“I want one!” Tony comes up to him with his hand extended, and grins when Bucky bumps him. “I’m happy for both of you. It was time Steve found his other half.”

Bucky frowns. “Steve is complete on his own.”

Tony’s entire face twitches, and then settles into a look of contemplation. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. I’m still happy Steve found you, though.”

Bucky smiles at that. “Me too.” Then he walks up to Bruce, who smiles softly at him before giving him a fist bump. “Hello,” Bucky adds on.

“Hello,” Bruce says back. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Steve answers, practically vibrating in place with happiness.

Natasha promptly bumps her first with Bucky’s when he gets to her. “I’m glad Steve got his head out of his ass.”

“Nat!” Steve sputters.

“What?” Natasha blinks at him, her face the picture of innocence. “I said I was glad.”

“We appreciate the sentiment,” Bucky says, and bows a little. He knows she is joking, but it’s better to be polite than have her dislike him. She’s way scarier than Sam.

“Hey, bro.” Clint fist bumps him with the hand not petting Bobby. “Good on you.”

Bobby also raises his paw, waiting. Bucky grins down at him, bumping his hand against Bobby’s paw, and quietly whispers, “May you find your happiness, just as I did mine.”

“Oh my god,” Clint gasps, and then clutches Bobby to him. “Space dog can _fist bump_?”

Bobby barks once and then nudges Clint’s cheek with a cold nose.

“He is as smart as any of us,” Bucky answers. “And he can eat your enemies.”

Natasha perks up at that, turning a calculating stare at Bobby. “Really?”

“Oh no,” Steve and Sam say at the same time, while Clint looks like this is the best day of his entire life.

“Can we keep him?” Clint asks Nat, and Bucky. “Can we?”

“That is not for me to decide,” Bucky replies, but when he sees the glint of gold between Bobby’s fangs, he smiles.

Clint understands what Bucky means, because he pats Bobby once on the head before asking, “Can we keep you?”

Bobby makes a retching sound, and it’s a testament to how much Clint wants him that he doesn’t flinch away from it. Instead, he raises his hand, palm up, right in front of Bobby’s mouth, ready to grab the wishbone when it falls from between Bobby’s jaws.

“Pretty,” Natasha murmurs, bending down so she can trace the golden bone with the tips of her fingers.

“Nice.” Clint grins, and then asks Bucky, “What does it mean?”

“He belongs to you now, should you accept it,” Bucky replies, and then leans against Steve’s side when Steve snakes an arm around his waist.

Clint worries at his bottom lip. “Nat?”

Natasha stares down at both of them, and then a slow smile forms on her face. “We’d be honored.”

“Yes!” Clint yells and throws his arms up, which unbalances him when Bobby barks and jumps on him. They fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fur, barks and laughter, happiness and love.

“A happy ending for everyone, huh?” Steve says under his breath, grinning at his friends.

Bucky tilts his head to place a kiss to the curve of Steve’s jaw. “No,” he says. “It’s a happy beginning.”

 

**

 

Duty calls, and Bucky stays away from Steve for far too long. When he finally manages to see himself free of blood and guts and death, it has been almost a week since he’s laid eyes on his warrior, felt the warmth of his hands, the sweetness of his kisses.

Bucky tells his clan to ride home, but Bucky himself rides to the Tower.

It is the middle of the night when he arrives, bone tired and missing his Steve. He breathes a sigh of relief when he steps into Steve’s apartment, unclasping his armor and dropping it to the floor.

“Buck?”

Bucky glances up, blaming his exhaustion on not having noticed the Steve-shaped lump on the couch. “You should be asleep,” he tells Steve.

“Couldn’t.” Steve shrugs one shoulder. There are dark circles under his eyes, the lines around his mouth tight, and he looks about as shitty as Bucky feels. “Nightmares kept waking me up.”

Bucky scowls. “Cloak?”

“Guess it couldn’t keep them away this time,” Steve answers with a humorless smile. “C’mere.”

Bucky goes, flopping down on the couch by Steve’s side, his arms immediately going around Steve’s waist. Steve laughs a little when Bucky tucks his face on the crook of his shoulder and neck, his antlers angled away from Steve’s face.

“Tired,” Bucky sighs. “Missed you.”

Steve kisses his temple, light and sweet. “Missed you too.”

Bucky makes a pleading little sound in the back of his throat, and shamelessly tilts his head up for a kiss. Steve obliges, and Bucky feels himself relaxing at the first touch of Steve’s lips against his.

“Missed this,” Bucky admits, placing a kiss to Steve’s bottom lip.

“You’re here now.” Steve cups one of Bucky’s cheeks, thumb tracing at the stubble covering his jaw. “You should take my bed, try to get some sleep.”

“Only if you come with me,” Bucky says, nuzzling their noses together. “Beds are not fun when you’re not in them.”

Steve smiles, a shy little thing, and then kisses him again. “Okay.”

Together, they head to Steve’s room. Bucky is so tired he can barely manage a smile when Steve hands him a pair of sweatpants to wear, but sighs in contentment at the soft feeling of the fabric against his tired muscles. It’s cozy, sharing Steve’s clothes.

It’s also cozy sharing a bed with Steve. They lie down on their sides under the covers, the cloak covering them from shoulders to toes. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to curl himself around Steve’s back, an arm on his waist, holding him safe and close.

“You should try sleeping too,” Bucky murmurs as he nuzzles the back of Steve’s neck. “I’m here now. I’ll keep your nightmares away.”

Steve links their fingers together, tugging Bucky’s hand so it rests right over his heart. “I’ll try. Night, Buck.”

“Night, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a kiss to Steve’s neck.

A few seconds later, they are both asleep. And that night, as they sleep wrapped around each other, no nightmares are able to find them.

 

**

 

Bucky wakes up warm and well-rested, with a heavy weight on his chest and hair in his mouth. He spits the strands away and glances down at himself, smiling wide when he sees Steve asleep on top of him, one arm wrapped around his waist.

Steve’s mouth is open as he sleep, soft snores filling the room, and there’s a fine line of drool pooling on Bucky’s undershirt. Bucky dries the wet patch with a flick of his fingers, the tingle of his magic making Steve smack his lips and snuffle.

“What didja do?” Steve mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s chest.

“You were drooling.”

Steve freezes for a second and then relaxes again. “‘S what people do in their sleep.”

Bucky huffs out a low laugh. “I’m not complaining.”

Steve hums and tightens his hold on Bucky, before letting go and propping himself up on an elbow. His hair is flat on the side that was pressed to Bucky’s chest, but the rest is sticking up everywhere, sleep-mussed and messy. Bucky grins and runs a hand through Steve’s hair, making it worse.

“Morning,” Steve says with a kiss to Bucky’s wrist.

“Morning. Now come down here and kiss me properly.”

Steve scrunches up his nose. “I have morning breath.”

Bucky smiles again and flicks his fingers, laughing at the way Steve goes a little cross-eyed and then shudders above him. “Now you have mint breath,” Bucky says.

“That felt weird.” Steve runs his tongue over his front teeth. “I don’t think I like it.”

Bucky kisses his chin. “I vow to never do it again, then.”

Steve smiles softly down at him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright under the morning sun. Bucky leans up when Steve bends down to kiss him, slow and deep and sweet; the best way to start their morning.

“Are you mine for the day?” Steve asks against Bucky’s mouth, and then kisses him before Bucky can answer.

Bucky wants to tell him he is Steve’s forever, but he settles for a simple, “Yes. What do you want to do?”

“I want to take you on another date,” Steve says. “I was kind of hoping we could make it a weekly thing, but then…”

“I had battles to fight,” Bucky finishes.

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “I get it. We don’t exactly pick when these kind of things happen, not in our line of work. But still.”

Bucky cups Steve’s cheek with one hand and pulls him down for another kiss. “We can aspire to weekly dates. There is a lot of your world I wish you to share with me.”

Steve grins, as warm as the sun coming in through the windows. “Sounds like a plan. What do you say about cooking breakfast together?”

Bucky blinks. “I would say that I don’t know how to cook.”

“I can teach you. It’ll be fun.”

Faced with Steve’s enthusiastic expression, Bucky can’t say no. And that’s how he finds himself an hour later in the kitchen, wearing one of Steve’s pink frilly apron and flipping pancakes through the air while Steve cuts some fruit. The radio is on, a happy song playing in the background, matched by the way Steve hums softly under his breath.

“Is this all?” Bucky asks, dumping another pancake into their quick growing pile of food.

“Too easy for you?” Steve waggles his eyebrows. “You could try shaping them.”

Bucky perks up. “That’s allowed?”

Steve laughs. “Yes, go crazy.”

Bucky doesn’t waste any time, wiping the mix into varying shapes on the frying pan. He does flowers, hearts, and stars, using only a little bit of magic to get them to look right. Steve looks up at him when he feels the magic tingles, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but after Bucky blows him a kiss, he seems to forget about it.

They share the counter after the food is ready, elbows bumping together as they eat. Bucky has to admit that food tastes sweeter when he makes it with Steve. It might be solely because of the way Steve blushes when Bucky hands him a plate with a heart-shaped pancake on it, or because of the way he hums in appreciation after he takes a bite.

Either way, Bucky likes it.

This is the kind of domesticity he never thought to have for himself, but that he now craves. Especially when it comes accompanied by sweet and syrup-sticky kisses that taste like coffee and fruit and Steve.

“Good morning,” Bucky says after kissing away the syrup clinging to Steve’s bottom lip.

“Right back at you,” Steve murmurs, kissing him again before pulling back. “We have some time to kill before our date.”

Bucky smiles at him. “A man with a plan, huh?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t resist when Bucky leans in and steals another kiss. “Yes, I have plans. But we have some time before we need to get going. Want to cuddle and watch some cartoons?”

“The burger one?” Bucky suggests. _Bob’s Burgers_ has given him surprising insight into human family dynamics, something Bucky knows will be useful to him while spending time with Steve and his team.

“Works for me.”

Steve is the one who snuggles up to Bucky this time, pushing and pulling until Bucky is lying flat on the couch. Bucky is pliant as Steve settles on top of him, their legs tangled together, Steve’s arm around his waist and Steve’s head tucked under his chin. The cloak goes over them, warm and soft. It’s the perfect way to spend their morning.

They lose a couple of hours that way, with Bucky content to let Steve use him as his own personal pillow, especially whenever Steve tilts his head up to drop a kiss to the underside of Bucky’s chin. But soon enough Steve is getting up and moving away from Bucky, despite Bucky’s very pathetic but entirely unselfconscious whine of disappointment.

“We gotta go get ready,” Steve says after he bends down to kiss Bucky’s pout away. “I’ll lend you some clothes.”

The prospect of getting to wear Steve’s clothes again is enough to get Bucky moving. He grabs Steve’s hands and lets his boyfriend pull him up, and then plasters himself to Steve’s back. Steve laughs but rests his hands over Bucky’s on his stomach, shuffling them both to his bedroom.

“I could take you shopping sometime,” Steve says as he opens his closet, “or at least ask Nat to go with us. If you have your own stuff here, you won’t have to keep borrowing mine.”

“But I like borrowing your clothes,” Bucky admits, plucking one of Steve’s cotton grey shirts and slipping it on. “They smell like you.”

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, and when Bucky pops his head through the shirt collar and looks at him, he smiles at the blush covering Steve’s cheeks.

“I like it,” Bucky traces one finger over Steve’s flushed skin, “and you like it. Let us have this, if only for a little while.”

Steve sighs and brushes their lips together. “Okay.”

Bucky smiles and kisses him again, sharp and sweet. “Where are you taking me today?”

“Coney Island,” Steve answers. “It holds good memories.”

“Do we need a boat?”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re driving. Well, one of Tony’s drivers is dropping us off there.”

“Cuddles on the way?” Bucky asks. He has his priorities.

“Always.”

Bucky also manages to sneak in a few kisses on the drive over, just barely there touches of lips to Steve’s cheek, neck, and his smiling mouth. Bucky is very much into means of transportation that get him this close to Steve.

Steve thanks the driver once they get to their destination. Bucky’s eyes scan their surroundings: the tall buildings, the streets, the weirdly shaped twirling tracks with mini cars on them that rise towards the sky. It’s the middle of the morning, so there are no lights, but Bucky knows that as soon as darkness sets, the place will be as lit up as wildfire. Hand in hand, Steve walks them towards the entrance, talking as they go.

“I used to come here sometimes. Before,” Steve says. “It looks different now, but they still have some of the rides from back when I was young. My Ma brought me here once for my birthday. I ate so much I got sick.”

Bucky scowls. “That won’t happen today.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “That doesn’t happen at all anymore. I’m like a bottomless well now. I eat everything people put in front of me.”

“You’re a warrior,” Bucky observes. “You need your strength.”

“How about we use our strengths to go on one of the rides?” Steve asks him, a devilish smirk on his lips.

Bucky knows a challenge when he sees one, so he smirks back and says, “Lead the way.”

Bucky is not ready for the Cyclone. The name, at first, does not intimidate him. Bucky’s fought his way through storms before, with the wind whipping at his hair and the rain cutting at his skin. He doubts a human-made toy will make him quake in his boots.

Bucky is wrong.

The ride up isn’t bad. They are secure in their seats, Steve’s hand in his as they go up and up and up. It is the sharp drop down and first speeding left curve that leave Bucky with his heart in his throat and his stomach lost somewhere between his toes, the speed making his butt slide through the seat and bump into the side of the cart.

“Fuck!” Bucky yells at the wind, his hand holding to Steve’s so tight he’s sure to leave bruises. “What the _fuck_!”

Steve’s laughter is drawn out by the wind, but Bucky can feel the way Steve’s side shake against his. “Are you okay?” Steve asks loudly, grinning sideways at Bucky.

“Curse this ride!” Bucky yells back, the world tilting when they take an abrupt turn to the right.

Bucky is breathing hard by the time they stop, entire body tense and heart racing in his chest. It takes some bit of coaxing until he manages to get out of the cart, but he stands up on shaky legs and walks as fast as Steve’s arm around his waist will let him.

“Buck,” Steve chokes on what sounds a lot like laughter, one hand sliding up and down Bucky’s back as he leads them to a nearby bench. “It’s okay.”

“That was _not okay_ ,” Bucky snaps, still trying to get his breathing under control. “That is a death trap. I’ve ridden through literal hurricanes while on my horse, and I’ve never felt as close to death as I did on that— that _thing_.”

“Hey.” Steve flops down beside him and pulls him into a hug. Bucky lets himself melt a little into the secure hold of Steve’s arms, especially when Steve places a kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry. I promise we won’t ride any more roller coasters.”

Bucky clutches at the front of Steve’s shirt. “We are brave, Steve, but we don’t have to prove that by being stupid.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Noted. How about you sit here while I go get us some food? It’ll make you feel better.”

Bucky doubts it, but he’ll never deny Steve the opportunity to eat. “Don’t be long,” he answers. He still feels a bit shaky, and having Steve around when he’s vulnerable helps Bucky calm down.

“Promise,” Steve says, kissing Bucky once before leaving.

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’s a little ashamed of himself. He’s the leader of the Wild Hunt, a warrior, nightmares made flesh. And today he’s been defeated by a _roller coaster_. Ugh.

“I’m back,” Steve says, disrupting Bucky out of his thoughts.

“That’s a cloud,” Bucky blurts out when he sees what Steve is holding in front of him. “A pink cloud.”

Steve grins. “We call it cotton candy. I thought we could share.”

“What does it taste like?” Bucky asks, although he doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer before he’s ripping out a chunk of the pink cloud and sticking it in his mouth. The burst of sugary flavor on his tongue is enough to make Bucky forget all about his embarrassment. “‘S _so good_.”

It also entirely makes up for the Cyclone, as far as Bucky is concerned.

“I knew you’d like it,” Steve says, pleased with himself. “You like sweet things.”

Bucky grins, lips sticky with sugar, and says, “And you’re the sweetest of them all.”

 

**

 

Against all odds, Bucky finds himself free again the upcoming week. He likes to believe it is fate rewarding him for a job well done. Bucky has given centuries of service to the Hunt, so now he gets something back. His reward is being available for his weekly date with Steve.

“So this is like the TV, but bigger,” Bucky says, trying to understand what Steve means when he says he’s taking Bucky to the movies.

He doesn’t see why they can’t just stay at home to watch a movie. Even so, this is what Steve has planned for today, and a date with Steve is always something Bucky looks forward to.

“Yes. And it’s dark in the room too.”

“Do we still get snacks?” Bucky asks as they walk into the theater. He’s become used to munching on something while they’re watching something at Steve’s, even if he’s just a fruit he’s conjured himself.

Steve grins back at him. “As many as you want.”

As many as Bucky wants turns out to be a ridiculous amount of chocolate, assorted candy, and a bag of something called Twizzlers. Steve helps him carry his bounty, as well as the tall sodas he bought.

“Where do you wanna sit?” Steve asks.

Bucky scans the room. He notices the two marked exits, but he doesn’t like the idea of having his back to so many people. He points to the back of the room, following behind Steve and choosing a seat right in the middle of the row.

Bucky frowns down at the armrest in between he and Steve. It gets in the way of Bucky’s ultimate cuddling position. He can’t snuggle up to Steve’s side when there’s something digging into his stomach.

Fortunately for him, he’s courting one of the best warriors on Earth.

With just a move of his hand, Steve pulls the armrest up, freeing space between them. “That’s better,” Steve mutters, flashing a smile Bucky’s way. “Wanna come here?”

“Yes, please.” Bucky carefully rearranges all of his snacks on his lap so nothing will fall to the floor when he pushes up against Steve’s side. Steve’s arm comes around his shoulder, fingers already playing with the strands of Bucky’s hair and twirling them around. “Want a chocolate?” Bucky offers, because as much as he loves sweet things, he’ll always share them with the sweetest person of all.

“I’m good,” Steve answers with a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Movie’s about to start soon.”

Bucky settles in with his head on Steve’s shoulder. Soon enough, the room grows dark, illuminated only by the huge screen in front of them. Bucky loses himself for the next couple of hours in the space fights and explosions and glowing swords. It is almost like he is there himself, fighting a terrible enemy and trying to save the galaxy.

“That was fun,” Steve says when it’s all over, helping Bucky gather the empty candy wrappers to throw in the trash.

“It was,” Bucky has to admit. “But I still like your couch better.”

What Bucky means to say is that he likes when they’re alone, just the to of them, not surrounded by strangers. He knows Steve reads between the lines, with the way his expression turns soft and he leans in for chocolate-flavored kiss.

“Wanna go home, then?” Steve asks, nuzzling their noses together. “We could watch some panda vids.”

Bucky grins, fond and so happy he could burst. “A man after my own heart.”

 

**

 

Bucky smiles when he catches sight of Steve in between the trees.

Steve is in one of his navy button downs, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, along with a pair of jeans that cling to his thighs and… other places. He’s obviously followed the instructions to dress up that Bucky left for Jarvis this morning.

“Bucky?” Steve calls, looking around.

“Here,” Bucky says as he steps from between the trees and into Steve’s path.

Steve smiles at him, but there’s an nervous edge to the curve of his mouth. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is wonderful,” Bucky answers, and then adds, “Or it would be, if you gave me a kiss hello.”

Steve lets out a low laugh and obliges, tilting his head so he can brush their lips together. It’s a chaste kiss, exactly the kind Bucky wants, but it leaves him breathless just the same.

“Hello,” Steve says against his mouth, eyes crinkling in the corners when he smiles.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Bucky kisses him again, just as soft. “Thank you for listening to Jarvis and meeting me here.”

It took Bucky a bit of convincing to get Jarvis to help him, but after assuring him he only planned on taking Steve on a date, the A.I. was more than willing to give his assistance.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “It’s not everyday he tells me I apparently have plans I didn’t know about.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I am surprised.”

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Are you ready for our date?”

The smile Steve gives him is slow and wide, filled with anticipation and excitement. “Hell yeah.”

Steve’s smile stays on his face all the way to their destination, but it turns into something softer and awed when he realizes where Bucky is taking him. He doesn’t say anything, though, choosing instead to rest his forehead against Bucky’s for a few minutes before pulling back.

“I know art is important to you. That it is… a part of who you are,” Bucky says quietly, lips brushing against Steve’s as he speaks. “It also holds meaning for us, the fae. I thought I’d share that with you today.”

“I’d love that,” Steve whispers after a kiss. “I want to share everything with you.”

Bucky smiles, stealing yet another kiss before they climb out of the car and climb the steps that lead to the front entrance of the Met. This is a corner of New York he is deeply acquainted with. Art is valuable to the fae and, whenever Bucky has the chance, he tours museums throughout the world to bask in as many artistic exhibits as he can.

They walk hand in hand through the museum, making their way first through the Egyptian art. Steve’s eyes are alight as he takes in everything. It is the kind of passion that flashes across his gaze that assures Bucky he was correct to bring Steve here.

“We have long lives,” Bucky says under his breath, only loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve squeezes his hand to let Bucky know he’s listening. “Some of us have been around for as long as the world has been alive. We see the rise and fall of civilizations. We see humans live and die. But we also see the good things that they leave behind.”

“The things we create,” Steve says, gaze flickering around the room.

“Art captures a moment in time,” Bucky goes on. “It is a glimpse into someone’s life that is gone as soon as they set their brush down, but that is immortalized forever. When you live as long as the fae do, that moment becomes valuable. To have evidence of a lifetime gone by? It is one of the most precious things to us.”

“The drawing I gave you,” Steve murmurs, his eyes shining and expression filled with understanding.

Bucky pulls Steve in for a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. “It was the most precious gift of all.”

 

**

 

Bucky has to admit: human weapons are fun.

Or at least this one is, as Bucky pulls the trigger and shoots at Sam, hitting him right in the protection goggles he’s wearing. This marks four down, only one to go.

“Oh, come on!” Sam yells when green paint splatters all over his face.

“You’re out, Wilson!” Tony’s disappointed voice comes through the microphone. He was one of the first people to be eliminated, and now he stays behind one of the glass boxes along with Bruce and Clint.

“Good shot, Buck,” Steve murmurs from Bucky’s side, lips curled up in an appreciative smile.

“This is fun.” Bucky grins back at him. “I like paintball.”

They’ve been playing around for a few hours now, with Steve having invited Bucky to a game when Bucky showed up unannounced. Steve’s family insisted on teaming up against them: Natasha, Sam, Clint, Tony, and Bruce on one side with Bucky and Steve on the other.

Bucky is sure they are regretting their decision now.

He and Steve fight like they have been doing this for centuries. It is as if they know each other’s minds and souls. Bucky hasn’t experienced something like this since after his first decade in the hunt, and it fills his heart with love to know how easy this kind of fighting comes to him and Steve. It is just further proof to Bucky that they are amazing together.

“Nat is gonna be hard to take down,” Steve whispers, turning on his back on the ground, weapon clutched to his chest. “We’re gonna need a plan.”

Bucky looks at Steve, his face hidden mostly by his protection gear, but he can recognize the wheels turning behind his eyes. “You want to use bait.”

“I wanna use myself as bait,” Steve corrects. “She knows I’m reckless enough to just—”

“Do something stupid,” Bucky cuts him off with an unimpressed gaze.

Steve gives him a cheeky smile, not at all sorry. “Yeah. And when she comes for me, you can get her.”

“I don’t like you in danger.” Bucky frowns.

So far he’s done his best to protect Steve from the others, which mostly involved sneaking up behind them and shooting them in the leg. That’s how he got Clint and Tony. With Bruce, he merely had to walk into his path before Bruce sighed and surrendered. Bucky supposes he’s lucky Thor isn’t on Earth right now.

“I’ll be fine.” Steve knocks their goggles together. “And if I’m not, I know you’ll avenge me.”

“I would never let your death go unchallenged,” Bucky promises. He could not, when Steve owns his heart.

Steve’s face goes wobbly under the goggles for a second before he brings a hand to the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes it. “Are you ready?”

“Try not to do anything _too_ stupid,” Bucky warns, only to regret his words a second later when Steve grins at him and jumps out of their hiding place.

Steve is fast, but Natasha has deadly aim. As soon as Steve is in clear sight, she starts shooting, pellets hitting the ground at Steve’s feet and exploding ink hitting his shins. They don’t hit Steve square on, though. It is almost like Natasha is trying to herd him somewhere, so she can strike the final blow.

Bucky narrows his eyes, and then goes on the move.

It is not difficult to find Natasha’s hiding spot when she’ keeps shooting at Steve. She’s on her belly at one of the high spots, weapon in hand, attention focused on the scope of her gun.

“Bucky,” Natasha says when Bucky drops behind her.

Bucky is only a little surprised she made him. He’s good at making himself unseen, but he’s not using magic to hide himself this time. Steve made him promise.

“Lady Romanoff,” Bucky says, his gun pointed at her.

“You know I’m going to shoot at Steve,” Natasha says, not taking her eyes off her target.

The way she casually says that makes Bucky twitch, a growl rising in his chest. He swallows it back. This is not the time. Steve is counting on him.

“You could have done so by now,” Bucky says.

Natasha smiles. “I know. But he looks so stupid when he runs,” she says, and then squeezes the trigger.

It is like slow motion. Bucky sees the pellet path, hears it zing through the air, and captures the moment it hits Steve right on his left butt cheek. Steve goes down, knees hitting the ground and hands braced in front of himself, a bright red spot marking the hit.

Half a second later, Bucky shoots Natasha.

And misses.

She rolls to the side and gets her knees under her, aiming right at Bucky. But this time... Bucky still has the image of Steve falling to the ground playing in his mind, so he’s not even a little sorry when his next shot rings true and hits Natasha right in the chest. But he’s not as fast as he thinks.

Bucky feels the hit on his thigh, a sharp sting of pain that is gone as soon as it happens. When he looks down, there is red paint covering his pants and sliding down his leg.

“Game!” Tony yells from his glass box and the lights turn on.

“Well played,” Natasha says, punching Bucky lightly on the shoulder.

Bucky preens, and then asks her, “Did you have to hit him on the butt?”

“No.” Natasha smiles a small smile filled with mirth. “But it’s funnier that way.”

They all go their separate ways to clean up after the game is over. Bucky is declared the winner, which means Steve also shares that title.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asks when Steve gets out of his pants, hands already reaching for Steve’s butt.

“What?” Steve looks at Bucky, eyes widening when he sees what Bucky is going for. He twirls around on his feet, almost getting tangled on his pants. “No! It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky presses his lips together not to laugh, enjoying the way Steve’s cheeks flush. “I could look at it for you.”

“I’m sure.” Steve worries at his bottom lip, and then adds, “Maybe another time.”

Bucky laughs and bends down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They change into clean and comfortable clothes. Bucky borrows one of Steve’s sweats and a shirt again, content to be wrapped around in Steve’s scent.

“We did good today,” Steve says as he comes up to rest his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “Real good. And thank you for having my back.”

“You’re an incredible warrior, Steve,” Bucky says, hands sliding down Steve’s sides to settle on his hips. “It was an honor to watch you fight and to be next to you while you did it.”

Steve smiles, soft and pleased, and rubs their noses together. “I’ve never seen you fight, not really.”

“Would you like to?” Bucky asks, because there is nothing he wouldn’t do for his Steve.

“Is that okay? For you to take me on a Hunt?”

“I’m their leader,” Bucky answers, “and you are mine. If I bring you with me, they will not argue. Is that what you want?”

Steve nods. “You’ve seen me fight. It’s only fair I get to see you too.”

“Then it is decided,” Bucky says, before pecking Steve’s lips. “I will take you on a Wild Hunt.”

 

**

 

Bucky’s clan welcomes Steve as if he were already one of their own. It makes Bucky’s soul sing, to know they approve of his choice, greeting Steve with open arms, warm smiles, and lots of alcohol.

“Do you want your own horse?” Bucky asks once they are getting ready to ride.

“Fuck no.” Steve shakes his head. He’s in his navy uniform with the silver star on his chest, and his shield is strapped to his back. “Can I ride with you?”

“Always. I can teach you to ride a horse some other time.”

Steve pales a little. “I’m not sure I want to learn.”

Bucky laughs and kisses him. “You’ll need to know, for when you join—”

Steve tenses under Bucky’s hands, and it takes a second for Bucky to realize what he’s said. When he does, he stills as well, hands still clenched around Steve’s shield holster.

“For when I join the Wild Hunt,” Steve finishes Bucky’s sentence for him, face serious and almost devoid of emotion. There is a glint of understanding behind his eyes, like his suspicions have been confirmed.

Bucky knows there is no use in trying to get out of this. He has dug his own grave. It is time for him to thrown himself in it.

“Yes,” Bucky admits, heart in his throat. “That is what I want. That is what I’ve wanted since I saw you fight for the first time, since I started courting you. For you to join me, join us, and lead at my side.”

There are a few seconds of silence that stretch on for what seem like years. Steve’s hand come to wrap themselves around Bucky’s wrist. Bucky can feel Steve’s thumb tracing to the metal guard on his arm, slowly but surely, as if trying to memorize the way it feels.

“You want my soul,” Steve says, voice so low and heavy with meaning that it strikes Bucky and leaves him shaking.

“You already have mine,” Bucky answers, because it is no use to deny Steve’s words.

He wants Steve’s everything. His love, his life, his soul.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, eyes shining. “That’s not fair.”

“It is the truth.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes a deep breath, hoping with all his might that he is not about to lose the man he loves. Steve’s hands tighten around Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky braces himself for Steve to push him back, away, and to say this is too much.

Yet Steve, as it seems to be the pattern, surprises him.

“I want to make a deal,” Steve says, gaze intense and focused solely on Bucky, pinning him in place.

“You what?” Bucky rasps out, voice breaking at the end.

“I want to make a deal,” Steve repeats, and then continues, “I will join you in the Wild Hunt when I’m ready, not a moment before. And I get to decide when that is. But with the condition that, if the world needs me, you will let me go.”

“I can’t agree to let you go,” Bucky blurts out, heart so full he thinks he might fall to his knees right here, right in front of his warrior.

“Yes, you can,” Steve tells him. He tugs Bucky closer with the hands on Bucky’s wrists, until their faces are so close their noses brush together. “That’s my condition. You’ll let me go when the world needs me, but I promise to come back to you. Always.”

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, words getting caught in his throat.

“ _Always_ ,” Steve says again, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. His eyes are so bright and clear when Bucky stares into them, holding a kind of assurance and bravery that steals Bucky’s breath away.

“We don’t need a deal,” Bucky says, eyes wet with tears. It wouldn’t be fair, not after everything they’ve been through together. “Not for this. I will take you on your word. When you decide it is time, you’ll join me. Not a second before.”

Steve laughs, shaky and utterly happy. “And I’ll stay for as long as you want me.”

Bucky chokes on a laugh, just as a tear slides down his cheek. “Forever, then,” he says, and then says the words he’s been holding on to for so long, “I love you.”

Steve’s smile is the most beautiful thing has ever seen in the world, especially when he says, “I love you too.”

Bucky lets out a happy shout and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, spinning him around a few times. Steve’s laughter rings through the air, and then gets swallowed up by Bucky’s lips when Bucky leans in for a kiss.

A kiss that is filled with promises of a future together. A kiss that is love.

“Will you ride with me?” Bucky asks, distantly aware of the sounds of clapping and Starlight’s happy neighs.

“Today, I will,” Steve agrees through a beaming smile, kissing Bucky one more time.

Steve settles behind Bucky on Starlight, his arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s waist. Bucky can feel the call of the Hunt through his bones, but what fills his heart is Steve’s love for him.

Together, they hunt.

It is a battle like any other, yet as different as it could possibly get. Steve is with him today, at his side, watching him fight and protecting him. With his shield in hand, Steve catches anyone who dares charge Bucky.

Bucky can’t help but smile as he rides on, sword in hand, cutting down people and soaking the streets with blood. Humans put up a good fight, but they are no match for the Wild Hunt. They are no match for Bucky and Steve. Soon enough there are bodies littering the streets and enough souls to serve and join the Hunt.

Steve’s eyes are alight when they go back to the woods, cheeks spattered with blood and hair matted with sweat. Bucky grins back at him, just as dirty and riled up, and doesn’t resist when Steve crowds him up against a tree.

“You—” Steve stops, shakes his head at himself, and then crushes their lips together.

Bucky moans into the kiss, all teeth and tongue and no finesse. Steve’s hands run all over his body, touching him, feeling him, as if to make sure he’s okay.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps when Steve bites at his pulse point, his hands coming up to hold on to Steve’s hair.

Steve’s eyes are dark when he looks up at Bucky, and his cheeks and lips are red. He is the most gorgeous man Bucky has ever seen. Yet it is Steve’s soul that makes Bucky’s breath catch in his lung: it shines as bright and as fierce as the sun itself, pulsing with a kind of warmth and strength that Bucky has never seen before. Not in anyone but Steve.

“Take us home,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s mouth in between kisses. “Please.”

Bucky smiles. He does not need to be asked twice.

 

**

 

It is an interesting ride home.

Steve’s hands busy themselves with touching instead of holding on, sliding up and down Bucky’s chest, gripping at his armor, trying to slip them past the metal plate. Bucky has to stop him when he’s in danger of falling off of Starlight. It would do them both no good for him to get hurt before they can get together.

Steve’s laughter against the back of his neck is warm and filthy, but he lets Bucky entwine their fingers together and rest their hands over his stomach. Starlight rides on, faster than before.

Bucky wonders how many carrots he will have to part with before Starlight forgives him for this.

Starlight practically bucks them off of him when they arrive, before he runs off to his favorite place on the roof. It takes Bucky’s arms around Steve’s waist to keep him from stumbling to the ground.

“My hero.” Steve grins, leaning heavily against Bucky’s chest, his eyes dark and cheeks flushed with want.

Bucky laughs and doesn’t stop to think before he scoops Steve up in his arms with a hand behind his back and one under his knees. Steve squacks but holds on, his curses quickly turning into breathless laughter when Bucky hurries to get them back to Steve’s apartment.

They are kissing again as soon the door is closed, battle-lust and reeling with victory. Bucky gasps at the all-consuming feeling of Steve’s lips on his, Steve’s hands on his body, both of them pressed together so close it is as if they are one.

A rough sound of frustration leaves Steve, his fingers scratching at the heaviness of Bucky’s armor plate. “Need this off,” he says, already halfway to figuring out how to divest Bucky of his protection armor.

Bucky kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth and starts helping. He is also eager to be naked with Steve, to touch him and kiss him and be touched and kissed in return. His body vibrates with it, needing this kind of closeness that feels so new and exciting.

The armor clangs to the floor, and that is soon followed by Steve’s shield being placed on top of it.

Steve smiles as he cups one of Bucky’s cheeks with his hand. “There you are.”

“Here we are,” Bucky adds, smiling so hard he thinks his cheeks will split.

He has never known happiness such as this.

Steve leans in for another kiss, close-mouthed and chaste. “You were so good out there,” he whispers when they break apart, voiced laced with pride.

Bucky shivers at the praise, but he is not one to leave Steve without compliments. “You were better,” he says in a murmur, nuzzling their noses together. “You brought down so many, only with your shield, and made sure I was safe. I’ve always known you were a true warrior, sweetheart, but you fighting by my side? It was beyond my wildest dreams.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and a second later he’s crushing their mouths together, all teeth and lips and tongue. Bucky laughs into it, arms tight around Steve’s waist, and kisses him back with just as much passion.

“C’mon,” Steve says between kisses and starts walking backwards towards his room.

It is different, this time, to be in Steve’s space when they know it is going to lead to something more than cuddles and conversations and sweet kisses. Yet it is a good different. They know where they stand now, what they both expect from and for each other, and they know they are in love. Taking this next step, after fighting together so well, seems exactly what they are supposed to do.

“You are overdressed,” Bucky complains, just as his fingers find the zipper at Steve’s back and starts pulling it down.

“So are you.” Steve slips his hands under Bucky’s shirt, nails teasing at Bucky’s stomach. “We should be naked.”

Bucky kisses the tip of Steve’s nose and pushes the sleeves of the suit down Steve’s arms. “A wonderful idea.”

They take their time undressing each other. The desperation from before has turned into a slow burning thing between them that makes each touch more reverent and each kiss the fulfillment of a promise.

Bucky’s heart tugs in his chest when Steve kicks off the last bit of clothing that stands between them. Bucky has seen Steve’s body before, sculpted out of marble and as strong as his soul, but here, now, it takes his breath away.

Steve is _his_ and Bucky never thought he would be so lucky as to have him.

Steve’s appreciative gaze is just as awed and hungry as Bucky’s. Bucky holds still while Steve’s eyes sweep over him, letting him have his fill, and preens at the obvious approval on Steve’s face.

When Steve reaches for him, Bucky goes without resistance.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve murmurs, hands greedy on the muscles of Bucky’s back, touching as much skin as he can.

Bucky gasps at this much skin-to-skin contact, but he is eager for more. He pushes their bodies closer, swallowing the moan Steve lets out with his lips. Their kiss is slow and deep, as if they have all the time in the world to stay exactly like this. And they do, as far as Bucky is concerned.

Forever is theirs to do with as they wish.

“You are more than I could have ever hoped for,” Bucky admits against Steve’s lips, slowly directing them towards the bed with his hands on Steve’s naked hips. “Every wish, every dream, every hope buried deep in my heart… none of them ever compared. Not to you.”

“Bucky,” Steve whimpers, a soft little sounds that goes straight to Bucky’s gut.

There is no more holding back, not after this, not when he has Steve in front of him, naked and in love and willing to be his.

“Let me show you,” Bucky says as he mouths at Steve’s jaw, kisses his way down his neck, and sucks a mark into Steve’s pulse point. “Let me show you how much I—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve gasps, grasping at Bucky’s shoulders and trying to get closer. “Yes, yes, c’mon.”

Bucky grins against Steve’s neck, giving a final nip to the bruise he put there before pushing Steve down on the bed. Steve goes, but brings Bucky with him, both of them falling in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Bucky kisses that bright smile right off of Steve’s lips, before continuing with his task. It is easier for him not to feel overwhelmed when he is in control. There is so much he wants to do with Steve, but this kind of touching is something he hasn’t experienced for a very long time. If he is the one to set the pace, he can be more aware of his own limits—to do only what he is comfortable with.

Steve seems to understand. He smiles softly up at Bucky and tilts his head up for a kiss, sweet and chaste. “It’ll be my turn to show you. Later.”

Bucky grins, excitement pooling in his stomach. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Right now, though, Steve is his to do as they please. So Bucky goes back to Steve’s neck, sucking a matching bruise to the other side. He likes this: seeing his marks on Steve. So much so that he moves down to Steve’s collarbones, biting at the thin skin there, watching with a smug smile the shape his teeth have left behind.

“Enjoying your work?” Steve asks with a rough voice, hands tangled through Bucky’s hair.

“You’re mine,” Bucky says as he presses a kiss to one of the bites. “I plan on making sure you never forget it.”

Steve grins at him, lips pink and cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. “Right back at you.”

Bucky smiles again, watching Steve from under his lashes, before lowering his mouth over the middle of Steve’s chest, right above his heart. The kiss he places there is sweet, quickly followed by bite to the underside of Steve’s pec. Steve hisses and arches his back, hands tightening on Bucky’s hair, pushing his chest into Bucky’s face.

When faced with such temptation, Bucky is not one to deny himself. He does what he’s wanted to do since the first time he saw Steve shirtless: he closes his mouth over one of Steve’s nipples and sucks, teeth scraping lightly over the peaked bud, while his fingers play with the other one.

The sound Steve makes is like music to Bucky’s ears: a tiny choked up whimper that turns into a low moan of, “ _Please_.”

Bucky kisses and bites and plays with Steve’s chest until it’s a mess of bruises in the shape of Bucky’s mouth. Steve pants under him, eyes glazed over and dark, his entire body trembling. He looks beautiful, and Bucky is the one that did this to him.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, mouth to Steve’s ear, his body pressing Steve’s down to the mattress. He can feel the hard line of Steve’s cock against his stomach, the wetness on his skin, and how Steve tries to rock into him, seeking friction.

Steve turns his head for a sloppy kiss. “Your mouth,” he pleads. “Want your mouth.”

Bucky kisses him again, deep and hot and filthy. “As you wish.”

Bucky is careful to keep his antlers angled away as he kisses his way down Steve’s chest. He pauses to bite at the sharp jut of Steve’s hipbone, hands tight around his waist, keeping him still. Steve tries to squirm away when Bucky nuzzles at his stomach, the scratch of Bucky’s stubble making him laugh.

“Stay still,” Bucky orders, pinching Steve lightly on the side.

Steve laughs and kicks at Bucky’s ribs. “You try to stay still when someone’s tickling you.”

“We can do that later,” Bucky suggests, trapping Steve’s legs and kissing the bent of his knee. “I am sure I will manage not to move.”

“We’ll see.” Steve smiles down at him, and then wiggles his hips. “You were doing something?”

“Ah, but of course,” Bucky murmurs. He kisses his way up Steve’s thigh, sucking yet another mark to the soft skin there, before finally getting to what he wants.

Steve gasps at the first touch of Bucky’s hand around his cock, his hands going from holding on to Bucky’s hair to gripping his antlers. Bucky laughs at the touch—no one has ever held him like this, but he can’t say that he minds. Especially not when he lowers his mouth to Steve’s cock and kisses the head, moaning at the salty taste of him on his tongue.

“ _Bucky_!” Steve cries out, trying to thrust into Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky pins him down with a hand on his hip, right as he relaxes his jaw and sucks Steve down.

Bucky loves this: he loves Steve’s weight on his mouth, his taste, his scent. He loves the sounds Steve makes as Bucky bobs his head up and down and uses his tongue, the way Steve’s thighs shake, the way he fights against the hold Bucky has on him. But what he loves most of all is the way Steve gasps his name as Bucky brings him to the brink of pleasure, how wrecked he looks right before he lets go, and how good he fills Bucky’s mouth with his come.

Bucky swallows it all with a moan of his own, sucking at Steve until Steve tries to push him away. Steve’s cock slips out of his mouth with a wet pop, and Bucky drops a kiss to the tip before lying down on Steve’s side.

Steve’s chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath, his movements clumsy when he turns his head and tilts his chin up for a kiss. Bucky is happy to oblige, shivering when Steve moans at the taste of himself on Bucky’s tongue.

They stay like that, kissing, until Bucky finds himself rubbing his cock against Steve’s side, leaving a sticky trail of precome on Steve’s tigh, wanting release. Steve notices it too, teeth clinking against Bucky’s when he smiles.

“Want something?” Steve asks with a smirk, his wet bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Bucky can only whine and rut harder against Steve’s side. Part of him wants to push Steve down and bury his cock in him, but he knows that’ll be too much, too soon. But this is good too. Steve is warm and pliant against him, smelling of sweat and come and _Bucky_.

“I got you,” Steve promises with a kiss to Bucky’s brow. “I’ll give you what you need.”

“ _Steve_ ,” is all Bucky can gasp. He has no doubt Steve will take care of him.

“Let me just—” Steve turns on his side, back to Bucky’s chest, and reaches for something tucked between the mattress that the headboard. There’s a click, and Bucky is vaguely aware of one of Steve’s hands reaching between his thighs. At least until Steve says, “Like this,” and shifts in place, ass now firmly pressed against Bucky.

Bucky gasps when his cock slips through Steve’s thighs, warm and so so wet. One of Steve’s hand settles on his hip, gripping Bucky and urging him on. Bucky wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and thrusts into the tight gap made for him, mouth at the back of Steve’s neck, and fucks Steve’s thighs.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs, pushing back into Bucky’s cock. “That’s it, Buck, you’re doing so good.”

“Steve, Steve.” Bucky shakes and rocks his hips harder, cock sliding in between Steve’s cheeks, heat pooling at his gut.

“You’re close, baby?” Steve urges him on. “Gonna come all over me? Mark me as yours, huh?”

Bucky’s hips stutter, hand holding so tight to Steve’s waist he knows it will bruise. “Please.”

“You can,” Steve tells him, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and holding on. “I want you to. Want to know that I’m yours.”

And that’s all it takes. With a gasp, Bucky thrusts one final time and spills over Steve’s thighs, coating Steve’s skin with his release. He slumps against Steve’s back, heart racing and body tingling and soul alight.

Bucky lets out a little sound of distress when Steve turns around, but soon hums in pleasure when all Steve does is rest their foreheads together and press himself against him. They’re both sweaty and sticky, but Bucky wouldn’t trade this for the world.

“Hi,” Steve whispers, a soft smile of his flushed face.

Bucky can’t muster up the strength to speak just yet, so he captures Steve’s lips in a kiss instead, a pleased growl rising from his chest. Steve laughs and kisses him back, hand finding its usual place tangled through Bucky’s hair.

“It is not only you,” Bucky says when he pulls back, eyes half-lidded and a smile on his face.

“Not only me what?”

“Who belongs,” Bucky answers, heart filled with love and light. “I am yours too, Steve. Just as you’re mine.”

Steve’s eyes go liquid, and Bucky surrenders when Steve pulls him in for a kiss.

Right here, in the arms of his sunshine warrior, is exactly where Bucky belongs.


	6. Epilogue - Steve

Steve marries Bucky on a Wednesday.

Or at least bonds with him, if he’s holding on to technicalities, in a beautiful fae ceremony that ties them together forever. It is marriage, by human standards, and Steve still holds on to his own soul, so he’ll call this a wedding to anyone who wants to listen.

“I don’t care what you call this,” Bucky tells him with a kiss to his lips. “I just care that you’re mine.”

The ceremony happens on the roof of the Tower. It is a place that has come to mean a lot to both of them, and it feels right to tie their lives together here. It also helps that the roof is big enough to fit both the Avengers, Bucky’s clan, and their horses, all gathered together under the night sky to watch as Steve and Bucky pledge their love and lives to each other.

There’s nothing fancy about the ceremony, if Steve doesn’t count the magical aspect of it all. He and Bucky stand by the pond, holding on to each other’s hands, and smile as wide as they’re capable of. Bucky is donned in armor, hair braided back away from his face, but Steve can see the sweater he knitted Bucky so long ago peeking out from beneath his armor plate. Steve is wearing his own dress uniform, pressed and fitted, medals adorning his chest, but on his feet are the boots Bucky gifted him.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs, eyes wet with tears and shining with happiness.

“And I love you,” Bucky says back, with just as much truth and passion.

Magic wraps itself around them when they say their vows, promising to stay together to the end of the line. Steve feels it, deep inside his chest, as the magic burrows inside his heart and makes a home there, giving life to the connection he’s felt for Bucky since they first met, over a year ago.

It still takes his breath away, though. As the bond forms, Steve can now _feel_ Bucky, like a golden ball of sunshine right against his heart, filling him with love and awe and joy.

Steve gasps and laughs and pulls Bucky to him, not caring about all the people around them. “You’re _there_ , in my heart,” he whispers, following it with a sharp kiss to Bucky’s smiling mouth. “I can feel you.”

Bucky smiles just as bright, his own eyes filled with happy tears. “You are my heart,” he says, the words followed by a warmth burst of love echoing through the bond.

They kiss again and again and again, in between whistles and claps and cries of happiness from their friends and family.

When Steve finally breaks away from Bucky, he can see Tony crying against Bruce’s shoulder, Thor raising his hammer in the air with a huge smile, Natasha and Clint trying to hold on to Bobby and keep him from tackling Steve and Bucky to the ground. Bruce just nods at him, a small smile on his face. Sam is the first one who gets to them and, to everyone’s shock, pulls Bucky into a hug.

Bucky is a lot better about touch, has been after a year of Steve kissing him and hugging him and loving on him as much as he can, but he’s still not a fan of hugs from other people. Yet here, today, he hugs Sam back, just as tight.

“Congratulations, man,” Sam says, voice muffled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles.

Steve feels a deep sense of gratitude flooding the bond, which he knows comes from Bucky. It took some time, but now Steve’s family is now Bucky’s family as well.

“I appreciate you being here,” Bucky replies, tapping Sam on the back a few times before pulling away. “Now go get drunk.”

Sam grins at him and goes, while Steve and Bucky receive hugs and pats and kisses from everyone else.

“Jarvis recorded everything,” Tony tells them, eyes still red from crying. “I’ll give you the video later. And your wedding gift. Don’t worry, I didn’t buy you a new house or anything.”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts him and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me,” Tony huffs, but hugs Steve back. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Steve smiles. It’s not like Tony was the one to organize all of this.

“I have to get away from you now,” Tony says, already walking away.

Steve barely has time to recover when he feels something huge and fluffy hit his side. Steve stumbles but manages to brace himself, only to have a lap full of Bobby in the next second. Steve laughs and pets him and lets Bobby lick his face. He feels only a little grossed out at the spit covering his cheek, but he figures he can withstand it for a few minutes if it means letting Bobby congratulate him.

“Aw, space dog,” Clint sighs as he tries to get Bobby off of Steve.

“Bobby,” Natasha’s sharp voice reaches them, “that’s not how we behave.”

Bobby stops struggling and goes limp, which almost makes Steve fall to the ground. As is, he keeps himself up when Bucky’s pressed a hand to the small of his back, arriving to show Steve support. Or possibly because he’s jealous of Bobby, considering the way the bond pulses with it and Bucky’s eyes narrow when he sees the hound.

Bobby gives Steve one last lick before padding up to Nat and flopping down at her feet. Nat pats him on the head, and then turns her attention to Steve and Bucky.

“Congratulation, boys,” she says with a small smile. “You deserve it.”

Steve and Bucky lean in and kiss her cheeks, and Steve can’t help but smile when she laughs.

“Thanks, Nat,” Steve says, squeezing her hand.

Natasha winks at him, and then points a finger at Bucky. “You take care of him.”

“Yes, Lady Romanoff.” Bucky bows, and then grins and gives Natasha a fist bump.

“We’re happy for you,” Clint says and claps them on the shoulder. “I promise not to lick you, though.”

“That is very kind of you,” Bucky replies in a polite tone, but amusement rings through the bond.

“Friends!” Thor rushes to them, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders in a sideways hug while bumping Bucky in the chest with his closed fist. “What a joyful day this is! Two souls, bonded together in love. It brings tears to my eyes.”

Steve blinks. “How drunk are you?”

“Very!” Thor grins, squeezing Steve to his side.

Steve groans. “It’s been ten minutes, Thor.”

“Bucky’s clan knows their drinks,” Thor explains. “You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Steve says despite himself, smiling at his husband.

_Fuck_.

His _husband_.

Bucky must feel Steve’s giddy incredulity through the bond, because he comes up close and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, even while Steve is under Thor’s arm.

“There is so much love between you,” Thor continues, looking surprisingly teary-eyed. “I hope one day to find someone who loves me as much as you two love each other. And fighting. That’s important too.”

“You will,” Bucky says, and glances at Steve. “My Steve mustn’t be the only one with a true warrior’s soul in this universe.”

“One can only hope,” Thor sighs. “Now I’m afraid I must leave you, friends. There is food to eat, alcohol to drink, and fights to get into. Congratulations and may you always be happy!”

Steve watches as Thor makes his way to a group of Hunters. “He’s not gonna kill anyone, is he?”

“Just maim,” Bucky answers, and then gathers Steve up in his arms. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Steve goes, pleased as anything to be here with Bucky. His _husband_. “We’re bonded,” he says, shivering at his own awareness of their bond, which shines bright with happiness and love.

“We are.” Bucky leans in and nuzzles their noses together. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve whispers, and then glances around them. “Wanna get out of here?”

Bucky grins at him, eyes sparkling. “Yes, please.”

They don’t say goodbye to anyone when they leave. They’re not expected to, not just yet, when they’re only going back to Steve’s apartment in the Tower. They leave everyone on the roof, having their fun, while they make their way to Steve’s room.

Bucky loses his armor as soon as they step inside the apartment. Steve needs his help to get out of his uniform, careful with the medals pinned to his chest, making sure to lay his clothes carefully on the armchair sitting near the window.

They’re not careful when they fall into bed, naked and tangled together, kissing and touching and letting their new bond guide them. Steve can feel Bucky’s answering desire as they kiss, heat pooling at his gut, making him gasp and shiver with it.

“Love you,” Steve says, just because he can, just because he’ll never get tired of it.

Bucky smiles against his lips and licks into his mouth, answering without words, and flips them around so he’s on his back on the bed and Steve is on top of him. “You’ve made me the happiest being in the universe today.”

Steve nuzzles their noses together and drops a small kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “And I’ll keep at it. Forever. You’ll be so happy you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

Bucky laughs, loud and free. “Sounds like a good way to live, if you ask me.”

Steve grins down at him and kisses him again, slow and deep, like they have all the time in world together. Which, after today, they do.

“Love you, Buck.”

“I love you too, Steve,” Bucky gasps when Steve moves to kiss and mouth at his neck.

Steve slowly makes his way down Bucky’s body, kissing and licking and worshipping with his mouth. He can feel it all echo through the bond, fueling his own lust, but right now it is not the time for him to focus on himself.

Now it’s all about Bucky.

Bucky lets out the best noises when Steve sucks his cock into his mouth. It’s always a little gasp of surprise followed by a long and drawn out moan, like he can’t quite believe something could feel this good. Steve hums around him and hollows his cheeks, his own moan rising up in his throat at the weight and taste of Bucky on his tongue.

The little hitches of Bucky’s hips drive his cock deeper into Steve’s mouth, like he can’t quite contain himself, can’t hold still. Steve rolls with it as he bobs his head, one hand cupping Bucky’s balls in his hand while the other wraps around his shaft where he won’t fit in Steve’s mouth.

Bucky comes with Steve’s name on his lips and Steve swallows every drop. It is almost unbearable, the way Bucky’s orgasm crashes through the bond and hits Steve right in the gut, wave upon wave of pleasure making him twitch and groan and come untouched right against Bucky’s leg.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, head resting on Bucky’s stomach, feeling absolutely wrung out.

Bucky lays one hand on top of his head and runs shaking fingers through his hair. “I’ll say. You okay?”

Steve nods. “Just don’t think I can move.”

In the end, he doesn’t have to. Bucky wiggles around until they’re side by side on the bed, sweaty and sticky and catching their breaths. Steve lifts up an arm and lets Bucky snuggle up right against him and tilts his head down for a kiss.

“I can’t believe you came on my leg,” Bucky mutters, nose scrunching up a little bit in disgust.

Steve laughs and feels himself blush, because he can’t believe it either. “Do you think it’ll always be like that?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head, nose rubbing against Steve’s. “We’ll get used it. Hopefully.”

Steve hums and pulls Bucky closer. “We have time.”

“We have forever,” Bucky says, a touch of awe to his voice that makes it impossible for Steve not to kiss him.

“I’m not ready to join the Hunt yet.”

They’ve had this conversation when they started talking about bonding and what it means, but Steve thinks it’s important for him to say it again. Especially now that their souls share a connection that not even death can undo.

Bucky smiles at him, eyes soft, and says. “I know. But you’ll let me know you are.” And then he pulls Steve in for another kiss.

And Steve does tell him, when the time comes, decades and decades and decades later.

After countless fights, new threats, alien attacks, and watching his friends grow old. It is when the Avengers retire and a new group of young people, as fierce as Steve once was, rise to take up the mantle and promise to fight to protect the world, that Steve knows it is time.

So he goes, just like he promised Bucky years before.

Bucky breathes new life into him, and it feels so much like Project Rebirth that it makes Steve laugh through the pain that seers his bones. His body is made new again, stronger and faster than before, and Steve still has laughter clinging to his lips when it is all done and he can breathe easy again.

And there is Bucky, standing in front of him with tears in his eyes, their clan cheering behind them.

With a step forward, Steve is in Bucky’s arms.

With laughter ringing through the air, Bucky is spinning them around.

And with Steve’s lips pressed to Bucky’s and their bond singing with love between them, Steve rides on to start his new life—to lead the Wild Hunt with Bucky by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> liked the fic? [reblog the masterpost!](https://quarra.tumblr.com/post/174728797439/sunshines-gifts-author-wearingtearing-hawkguyz)
> 
> you can find us both on tumblr: [@hawkguyz](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/) and [@Quarra](https://quarra.tumblr.com/).
> 
> and don't forget to check out all the other amazing fics and art over [@capreversebb](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) :D


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